The Odd Quadruple
by skyesurfer12
Summary: It may be six days until Christmas, but the government isn't shutting down this time. Team Bartowski is ordered to take an unorthodox mission and cover that has everybody off kilter. The twenty minute tutorial on concealment and pretense didn't begin to cover this. Pre and post slash relationships. (m/m and m/m/f)
1. Chapter 1

It may be six days until Christmas, but the government isn't shutting down this time. Team Bartowski is ordered to take an unorthodox mission and cover that has everybody off kilter. The twenty minute tutorial on concealment and pretense didn't _begin_ to cover this. Pre and post slash relationships. (m/m and m/m/f)

The prize: a dazzling all-expense paid trip to a tropical locale with his closest pals. By that, Chuck means a government assassin, two ninjas, and three weapons experts. Who still scare the crap out of him.

Their opponent: the most dangerous dealer the agency could put in their Christmas stocking

The pawn: his best friend

The hope: get home by Christmas without blowing everyone's cover, crossing personal lines, or letting a psychopath slip away.

Call it a hunch, but the Human Intersect is betting that this fake vacation with real guns will be _nothing_ like the glossy travel brochure.

**Author's Note: ** Hello! I'm somewhat new here. I want to start by saying that just in case you did not see the disclaimer regarding non-canon and m/m or m/m/f relationships, this story will carry heavy insinuations. However, the overlying element here is humor, specifically mine, which probably deserves a warning in neon.

I want to say take a minute to say thanks to my beta reader, who gave me the idea via a prompt months ago, asphaltcowgrrl.

**The Odd Quadruple **

**Chapter One**

**December 18 2007  
Top Secret NSA Transitory Living Quarters – Echo Park  
08:33 PST**

-x-

What was the big deal if he was only a few minutes late? Hadn't he jumped through every last flaming hoop like a trained seal for those people during the past three freaking months?

The government people who ruined his life. Yes, those jolly folks.

Chuck Bartowski spied the scarier of his two handlers first as he came through the door. That fact that his tardiness fried him was a given.

"Good morning," Chuck said simultaneously sliding into his usual place between the real spies in the room and smoothing his nerd badge. "Sorry I'm -"

"Late? Eight-thirty briefing in my apartment mean something else in nerd speak, Bartowski?"

"Only if you say it Klingon," Chuck shot back to Casey with a charming smile. "Which I could teach you, by the way."

"Valuable skill that is." Casey squinted at the smile with healthy skepticism. "And I could teach you to go hunting, by the way. Unless ... you already know how to gobble with a feather stuffed in your -?"

"Speaking Klingon did save my life, I feel compelled to point out. You know me, the Human Intersect?"

Casey seemed to be weighing the banal triviality of that argument.

"Gentlemen." On the monitor, General Beckman's face stiffened to the frigidity of dried clay. "Is there a problem?"

"Nothing, General." Chuck tried out his smile on her and waggled his hand between him and Casey. "It's just his way of saying he cares."

"I see the impending holiday has lifted a certain person's spirits," Beckman said. She looked Chuck directly in the eyes to make a point of his lack of punctuality and untucked shirt. "However, we still have work to do here."

"Yes, Ma'am." Chuck wiped the smile from his face and added under his breath, "You texted me ten minutes ago, Casey. I was in the middle of breakfast."

"Upset your_ Nuts & More_?" Casey said out of the corner of his mouth.

It peeved the kid that he had been watching so closely.

Giving up on Casey, Chuck nudged Sarah in the shoulder to see if he could get a smile from her. That's what friends did, right? Now that they were officially _friends_ after the 'We'll-always-have-Omaha' fiasco on black Friday?

Apparently, stumping for support during a briefing was bad timing. She gave him a _try to behave_ look before nodding at the screen.

He wasn't exactly sure what had happened to give them those looks, but someone must've dinged Beckman's car door, or left a dog turd on Graham's front lawn. Neither of them looked happy, though Chuck tried to remember if they ever did.

So instead of trying to get a holiday smile from them, the kid stood straight in his normal spot, to the right of Casey's shoulder, chagrined for the thousandth time that he had to wedge his somewhat awkward self between two people this pretty.

Not that he would say that aloud. Nuh-uh. If Casey heard the word pretty, it would get him stuffed into a locker in the Buy More break room. And considering the size of those lockers and the lankiness of his body, that pretzel-folding maneuver would not be pretty.

In the meantime, it only took another sneer or two from Casey to regain his mission-mode composure. "You were preparing to tell us about intelligence gathered on a target-rich opportunity - before the tardy and might I say annoying interruption by the asset."

Chuck gave him a dirty look for that, but bit his tongue. Despite the fact that Casey was dressed in his green shirt, the NSA agent still managed to look like a hard ass this early in the morning, and Chuck didn't want to tangle before breakfast.

Sarah raised her chin and pushed back a lock of her bangs. "You were mentioning a target picked up on surveillance at LAX, Ma'am?"

"Correct, Agent Walker." Beckman's eyes swept over the team. "As we were saying, a source has indicated that an international black market-"

"Whoa. Hang on, General." Chuck raised a hand and felt himself stepping forward before he could think. Neither Sarah nor Casey turned to look at him, but he could feel Sarah twitch at his outright insubordination, while Casey looked as if he wanted to grab Chuck between the shoulders and pull him back in line. "Before you go on –"

"_Chuck_." This time it was Sarah attempting a rescue before his mouth got him in trouble. More trouble, that is. "_Not now_."

"Ma'am, forgive me, but I thought this was a de-briefing on the successful completion of the Lon Kirk counterfeiting scheme? An 'at a boy,'?" Chuck stopped briefly to make a pair of sarcastic air quotes. "Maybe some kudos to the team for capturing a sleaze who tried to blow up my best friend? Oh, and for seizing the counterfeit plates."

"Killing my car sound like a success to you, Bartowski?"

"I said I was sorry, okay?" Chuck turned to the screen and felt bold enough to say, "Besides, my point still stands."

Beckman eyed him for a long moment and slowly arched one brow. Holy smokes. To make such a tiny move convey that much peril had to take practice. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Bartowski, but resting on your laurels is not going to stop the next menace that threatens the safety of your country."

Put that way, he did sound a bit like a bellyacher – but his spy job and real job during the holiday rush were going to kill him if he didn't put his foot down just this once. "General, has anyone taken a break from karate chopping and gun maintenance to look at the calendar?" He avoided meeting the stares of Sarah and Casey right then. "It's a week until Christmas! I've spent the past three months having every aspect of my life under a microscope. Not to mention I've been shot at four times, kidnapped on three occasions, almost blown up – twice -"

"And a partridge in a pear tree," Casey finished gruffly. "Get back in line, Bartowski."

Chuck clenched his fists at his sides and bravely ignored him. "What I'm saying, General, is that this team has produced results with no breaks – and frankly no _thanks_ from the NSA or CIA. I, for one, plan on having a holiday break because I think we deserve it. So at this point, we need to derail your debrief, go back to a little thing I like to call normalcy, and we'll see you in a week from now. Oh, and you're welcome."

By now, Sarah had taken hold of the hem of his untucked shirt, out of Beckman's line of sight, and was tugging firmly on it. More disconcerting was Casey's hot breath on his neck, mingled with a growly sound that made Chuck's hair stand up along his collar. Okay, so maybe he had stepped out of line a bit – literally and figuratively. But did the bosses have to be Grinches about this?

Director Graham, meanwhile, had just swallowed a prickly pear if his expression meant anything. "Agents," he said, clearly pinning his eyes to one and then the other, purposely skipping over Chuck as if he didn't exist, "is there a problem handling the asset?"

Sarah stepped forward and took the hit for the team, possibly since Graham was CIA and her boss. "No sir, no problem,"

"Nothing that can't be solved with a foot up the ass," Casey breathed only loud enough for Chuck to hear. "Which is going to happen the second this call ends if he doesn't –"

It only took a moment of visualizing for Chuck to step back in line. After all, he had made his point, and Casey didn't take threats lightly. And the man had huge feet.

"I'd be willing to hear the outline of the mission specs." Chuck cleared his throat. "Maybe entertain us with the dubious baddie du jour?"

Beckman didn't look convinced. It was obvious she wanted the infraction dealt with in a more severe manner, but did she really forget he was a civilian and she had no jurisdiction over him? Something told him she would argue the last point, citing he was government property until the Intersect was gone. Fine. Whatever.

"If we are done playing games, we can continue," she said, looking directly at Chuck. "As we were saying, a source has provided Intel on a target we've been trying to crack for years. It's believed that a mogul who has shielded himself under his successful enterprise has secretly been dealing in covert operations."

"Such as?" Casey asked a little too eagerly, because the possibility of whipping some anti-American, double dealing scum was Christmas come early for the man.

"Major, the target is suspected of selling gas centrifuge technology to Pakistan and North Korea." Beckman paused. Her face somehow became tighter. "Perhaps they are developing connections with others as well. You need to stop him before that happens."

Chuck raised his hand before he realized it. "Gas centrifuge? It doesn't sound all that threatening."

"Get your nerd brain in gear. It is when it's used to separate uranium." Casey folded his arms over his chest and shrugged. "So a first class science freak. Find out who he's dealing with, round them up, beat them down, and _persuade_ them to tell us who else is within their network. Got it."

Chuck turned to stare. "Wow. You need to back off the Wheaties for breakfast, buddy."

"Who is the target, Ma'am?" Sarah asked. "What do we know about him?"

"It's this man." Beckman reached down and hit a key stroke, and a pop-up window expanded on the screen. "He's –"

Chuck didn't hear the remainder of the explanation. The Intersect had already kicked him between the ears and revved up its engines.

_School children in white uniforms marching on a beach_

_Two fighter jets incinerating a concrete block building_

_Rows of lock boxes on stacked shelves_

_A train colliding with a black SUV, bursting into flames_

_A vial of dark blue liquid bubbling on a stove_

_The school children_

"Oh, no."

"What?" Casey and Sarah asked together.

"David Blosjo," Chuck managed to rasp, already feeling the Intersect-driven headache hit him. The unwelcome database had done the dirty work again, feeding him a platter of information about the baby-faced blond on the screen. Mid thirties. Wealthy. Educated at MIT. Degrees in nuclear engineering and research. Sounds normal? Except for the nuclear dealing hobby, the kid gathered.

He didn't need the Intersect, however, to pick up on the smug little smirk that in one way or another fit on his handsome face. The thing that Chuck really had to gawp at was the hair swoosh. Seriously, how long would it take a man to get that effect with a blow dryer and a round brush?

"What has our little coiffed friend been up to?" Casey asked, so yeah, he noticed the swoosh.

"Mr. Blosjo is suspected to be advancing the role of centrifuges," Graham answered. "Selling technological secrets for the development of nuclear fuel. Possibly producing military-grade enriched uranium – and we believe he's ready to meet with a potential buyer."

Casey and Sarah turned in unison to stare at the Intersect. "What else did you get?" Casey asked, eyes cutting up to the kid's hair.

"A migraine?" Chuck suggested as a stall tactic, since he was drawing a blank. "Can the agency come up with post-flash pain killers?"

Casey rolled his eyes and gave Chuck a few ungentle taps on the forehead. "Anything in there about who he's meeting? Why is he in LA?"

"You know, it doesn't work that way." Chuck ducked his head and batted Casey's hand away. "Just rattling it isn't going to loosen up the Intel stuck in there."

Casey grunted, a sound that Chuck interpreted as _let's give it a try._

"Chuck, was there anything else in your flash?" Unlike Casey, at least Sarah had a look of concern when she faced him. "Do you know any details about the meeting or the buyer? Even a name?"

"I – there was – but it really makes no sense ..." Chuck's nose wrinkled as he tried to figure out how several of the images fit into a nuclear-crazy puzzle. "That's odd ..." His words trailed off into fuzziness, and he began to shake his head. "Huh."

"Just say it," Casey ordered.

"Um, almond extract? Essential oils of pomegranate seeds?" Well, it figured after all of the stress he had put it through, eventually the Intersect would go on the fritz. Chuck looked sheepish as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Does that mean something?"

On either side of him, one handler looked confused, while the other looked like he wanted to punch through his brain and pull out the stubborn Intel with his bare fist.

Chuck backed away from Casey and glanced at the monitor. Rather than looking interested, Graham and Beckman seemed deflated by that last piece of data. Why? It wasn't his fault the Intersect had given him natural byproducts of organic resources instead of a face and a name.

It made the rest of the data he hadn't brought up yet look sane.

"I should mention," Chuck went on carefully, "for the sake of full disclosure, there was something about lavender nourishment spritz mixed in there, too."

Casey narrowed his eyes at him. "I knew it. I knew if that was in the brain of a nerd, eventually it would -"

"Major, that is enough," Beckman interceded, folding her hands together on her desk. "Though the Intersect did not provide the data we were anticipating, the flash was ... correct."

"It was?" Chuck rocked up on his tip toes and tried not to preen when he looked at Casey. "Thank you, General. But how was it correct?"

"We had hoped to get the name or affiliation of the contact, but unfortunately your flash included only Blosjo's front of operations."

Chuck raised his hand again out of force of habit. "While we're on that topic, let's just say what we're all thinking. I mean, c'mon, I thought the name Bartowski was a curse. But wow, right? Though, if you think about it, growing up with that name, you do have to learn to throw a punch -"

"Which I am getting ready to do," Casey noted quietly.

"Please, General. Continue."

"Thank you, Major." Beckman frowned at Chuck and gestured at the monitor. "Mr. Blosjo earned his fortune, which we believe he uses as a guise to cover his more surreptitious activities, by developing a highly successful ... product line."

"What product?" Chuck asked before the real spies could.

Graham hesitated, appearing uncomfortable. It was a look Chuck couldn't recall witnessing before now. "Hair care," he finally said. "Spa treatments. Men's ... styling products."

Casey's steely demeanor went from bewildered to horrified, and then settled on disgusted in point five seconds. "... the _hell_. Men's? Something wrong with a bar of Irish Spring?"

Sarah tilted her head at Casey before she turned to the monitor. "Director, obviously Mr ... er, Blosjo's picture wasn't enough to trigger the data within the Intersect. We still don't know who his contact is and what he's selling this time. What's our mission, sir?"

"Thank you, Agent Walker, for keeping us on task." The meaning behind Graham's stern look was not lost on Chuck. "The front of the Zen product line may seem ... trivial, but the consequences of completing his deal could be catastrophic."

"Zen? The Aura of Zen? Hey, Devon uses that."

Casey snorted. "Figures."

"Wow." Chuck puckered out his bottom lip, still stuck on the revelation. "Cleansing away split ends _and_ contributing to the coffers of a mad scientist. Quite the killer combo."

"Gentlemen." Director Graham leaned over Beckman's shoulder, attempting to cease the frivolity. "We need to find out every last detail, every scrap of data that the Intersect has on his network of potential clients – what exactly is he selling, and who is he brokering a deal with this time. Is this understood?"

"Yes, sir," Casey and Sarah said in unison.

"Good," Beckman said. "Team, pack your bags."

Chuck blinked. "Bags? As in _luggage_?" He absorbed the implication without moving. "But you said – LA. He's in LA – and again, I have to remind you, it's a week before Christmas. I can't go anywhere."

Graham took point on this one. "Mr. Bartowski, let me explain this to you in simple terms. The information we need is trapped in your head. Therefore, you need to be within striking distance of ... _Blosjo_ while we know where he is in order to flash. That is your job. Flashing. If you cannot handle your job under the current constraints, the government can remove those constraints in order to refocus your priorities."

The current constraints? As in his freedom? Chuck bristled and started to open his mouth, but Casey's low snarl and Sarah's fingers digging into his wrist ordered him to back down. "Yes, sir," was all Chuck said.

Graham glared at him a bit longer as if the bunker insinuation didn't sink home. "You'll find, Mr. Bartowski, that it's best not to argue with the grown-ups." He looked at Sarah and Casey, in one move informing Chuck where he stood in the pecking order. "Have yourselves and the Intersect ready to depart by 17:00 hours."

"Where are we going?" Sarah asked.

Silently, Chuck thanked Sarah, because yes, it did seem pertinent, and the agency had a tendency to leave out minor details.

"You're going on a cruise," Beckman stated. "LA to Puerto Vallarta. Blosjo is on the passenger's list. We believe he is meeting the contact on board. It would've been preferable to capture him and his associates before the ship sails, but unfortunately, the Intersect failed to identify the buyer."

Funny how she could make it sound like that was Chuck's fault.

Whoa. Back up the bus right there.

Did she say _cruise?_

Chuck straightened his shoulders a bit, blinded by the possibilities. "I'm – I mean we – are going on ... a ship? And we'll be back before Christmas?" For the first time today, he found his smile. "To Puerto Vallarta. With beaches and pools and drinks with the funny little - ?"

"Yes, Mr. Bartowski," Beckman said. "That is correct."

"Oh ho ho." Chuck amped up his grin to the dazzling crooked variety. "Things are starting to look up around here in the spy-biz. Okay, General, you've twisted my arm, but only because it's you. Cabin class is fine, by the way."

Casey slanted him a look and nudged Chuck out of the way. "Ma'am. What are the covers? I'm sure the Intersect could be kitchen staff. Sleep in the hold? We can take him out and dust him off for flash-time only?"

Chuck started to make a remark that would get him in trouble, but he took one look at the monitor and had to pause. Hearing Casey's question, Beckman and Graham had exchanged an awkward glance.

What was that all about? God, no, not kitchen staff. He hated the smell of uncooked seafood.

"This is where the mission gets slightly ... complicated." It was obvious Beckman was choosing her words meticulously, which Chuck found worrisome. "The Carnival Miracle," the General moved on to explain, "Is setting sail this evening on The Winter Rainbow Cruise. Couples only, actually."

"Rainbow?" Casey's jaw clenched. "As in liberal haters of the Reagan policies?"

"As in an all gay cruise, Major."

"Eh?"

Huh. Chuck thought he had nailed down most of Casey's sounds by now, but that grunt was a mystified uninterpretable one.

Next to him, Sarah's hand came up to her mouth. If she thought that hid her toothy smile, well, not even close, sister.

"Um, hang on." In that instant, Chuck was struck by a terrifying thought. "Do – do you mean ..." But a rock or something heavy lodged in his throat, and as the kid momentarily lost the ability to make noises, he simply flapped a hand in Casey's direction before patting his own chest. "Oh ... oh no ... no, no, no."

On the other side of him, he sensed Casey was frozen in a perpetual parade rest stance rigid enough to withstand a hurricane, but the kid didn't dare look.

Chuck turned to Sarah, eyes wide. _"Help! Say something!"_ he mouthed to her.

"Oh, Santa, you outdid yourself this year," he heard Sarah murmur.

This was _funny_? How could she find this amusing!

All right, he wasn't going to get any help from his more sympathetic handler. It would be up to him to put the brakes on a mix-up that would get his arm gnawed off.

Chuck held up a hand.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Bartowski?"

"You see, there is a problem with this." And why on earth was it him explaining this to the government? "There are only two men on Team Bartowski, which kind of narrows down possibilities here. And the issue is that one of those men," and he gestured at Casey's chest, "really does not appreciate the nerdy charm of the other one. I don't think he can pull it off, Ma'am."

Oh, crap. Did he just imply that he could?

Sarah turned to him and something flickered across her face. Great, indeed, she caught the implication. Why else would she be smiling? "He's a spy, Chuck," she said. "Casey can handle it. Isn't that right, Major?"

That cracking sound might've been Casey's jaw. "Ma'am, the asset has a point," he said between his teeth. "I must question the mission parameters."

"Agent Walker has a point as well," Beckman remarked. "You're a professional, John."

This was the best the agencies could come up with? Wasn't it bad enough to have every move watched? Now the NSA – and to be specific, a very large frightening element of the NSA - would be sleeping in his bed?

Apparently, yes.

"But, General," Chuck said, nerves beginning to flutter in his stomach. "Another issue. I'm not ... gay?"

Oh, God. Why did that come out like a question!

Each non-civilian in the room studied him for a long moment. _Too_ long. "Chuck," Sarah said in low voice, turning to face him with her back to the monitor. "I should tell you that when you became the Intersect, it was necessary to gather all intelligence on your ... background."

Chuck peeked over her shoulder at the knowing faces of Graham and Beckman. Now the whole Stanford Incident was ten times worse because they all knew.

"Um, everything?" He couldn't help the fiery blush. "Even college?"

Sarah nodded slowly. "It's okay, really."

"Mr. Bartowski." Beckman settled back in her chair, ignoring Chuck's stunned look at the violation of his privacy. "Your background has been thoroughly vetted, and I shouldn't have to remind you that one of our own in the CIA has corroborated your history. Agent Larkin was your ... roommate at school, was he not?"

Ah, there it was. What a surprise. Another betrayal from Bryce.

Chuck hunched his shoulders and felt his throat cinching up, but if they knew, what good would it do to deny it now? "I was curious, okay? Geez. I was in college. Everyone tries something new in college, don't they?"

"Curious? For twenty-six months." Casey gave him an appraising look. "If you were a cat you'd be dead a dozen times over."

Chuck winced and put a hand over his mouth.

"Ma'am, how does Chuck's past ... relationship affect the mission at hand?"

Sarah always did know how to rescue him.

"Excellent point, Agent Walker." Beckman's forehead crinkled as her gaze swept over all three team members. "First, I need to clarify an inaccurate assumption."

Chuck really hoped it was the gay one, because so far, he was keeping his options open. He preferred not to label his heart-breaking infatuations. Simply put, he liked to think it was the _person_ he was interested in, and whether they were a man or woman didn't fit into the equation until ... later. Kind of in the way he thought Sarah was hot, and Casey should've been carved from a heroically large – and angry - slab of marble.

Okay, so he sort of liked both of them. Big deal. It happened when you knew someone would die for you. Or held you up against a wall in a hail storm of bullets. Smelling really good.

Irish Spring?

"Please tell me this was a mistake," Casey said, and Chuck had to fleetingly acknowledge the quality of fabric the folks at the Buy More Corporation used in its green polo shirts. With all the tension in his upper arms and chest, it should've ripped at the seams like Hulk. "Tell me that I don't have to bunk with the nerd."

"That is correct, John."

Casey did a double-take. "It is?"

Beckman steepled her fingers in front of her, and Chuck swore he saw the slight curl of a smile. "We can't have the Intersect bunking with a spy. There will be over twenty-one hundred men on board. If one of them makes you as an agent, or recognizes you from your past as a military officer, it will draw the Intersect into the limelight, so to speak. And we can't have that."

"We can't?" Chuck and Casey asked together.

That was _not_ a little stab of disappointment. Admittedly – no he would never admit it – the night terrors and dead bodies were getting to Chuck, and the thought of someone warm and protective next to him was nice. Just not a someone who would kill him for thinking it.

"I've explained the risk," the General said.

"But, I don't get it." Chuck's brows drew together as he glimpsed at the faces on-screen and then to the spies on either side of him. "If it's not –"

"Incoming," Casey said.

It made Chuck wonder how he did that. It was like his SIG Sauer sprouted from his hand, and in one swift movement, the sidearm was leveled at the doorway. With his other hand, he grabbed Chuck by the shoulder and shoved him down. "Stay."

"What – what is it?" Chuck's question came out like a croak, due to the fact his stomach was flat on the floor. At that moment, he did notice Casey's hardwood floors were very clean.

The order came automatically from both handlers. "Stay down," Casey and Sarah told him.

"Okay, sheesh."

When he looked up, he saw Sarah in the same pose, her Smith and Wesson ready to take out whoever was barging in the door. She gave him the _you heard us_ look, which went nicely with Casey's _don't even think about getting up, idiot_ look.

Bryce Larkin raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey. You can have first dibs with the jelly-filled, I promise." He waggled a brown grease-stained bag, presumably packed with donuts. "I got the Christmas sprinkled one just for you, Sarah."

Casey seemed to take a long time to lower his gun, as if his trigger finger needed only one itch. Chuck had to admire the NSA agent's show of restraint. Too many senior level witnesses, he guessed. "How the hell did you get in here?" Casey asked.

"Better yet," Chuck said, climbing to his feet, "why are you here? What happened to the maître'd gig at the consulate dinner?"

His joke fell flat. Bryce had already explained he was posing as a guest, not the help, the night he had been briefed in the media room at the Buy More. Like Chuck could forget? It happened sometime before the kid washed down his bitterness with a turkey sandwich with Morgan, and after Tommy had scattered a thousand shots in the store. Oh. And almost got away with the Intersect. Can't forget that detail.

For the first time that Chuck could recall, however, Bryce's usual cocky persona had fallen away for a heartbeat. The UnBryce. Until he saw the bosses on the monitor. "The consulate dinner was a bust," he said, nodding at them and making a point not to look at Sarah. "The General and Director have my report."

"But Fulcrum ... You were going after them." Chuck frowned as his eyes roved over his ex-friend. The sudden frost in the air told him that even Casey and Sarah were just as taken aback at his unexpected appearance. "On your own? Off the radar? What the hell happened, Bryce?"

Bryce lifted his Ray-Bans and locked him in an unreadable gaze, saying nothing. While the confused looks settled on him, he then walked around Casey's tan Lazy Boy recliner and approached the screen. "Sorry, I'm late. LA traffic is still the worst."

"Takes a real superspy to know LA traffic sucks, I guess?" Casey mumbled, reluctantly tucking his gun back under his shirt.

"I should just be flattered you like donuts, Casey."

"Agents." Beckman's look of cold exasperation halted the bickering. "If we've finished the greetings, perhaps we can get back to the mission at hand."

"Yes, Ma'am," Bryce said, taking position in line next to Sarah. "You rerouted my return flight to D.C. I assume there is a new mission?"

Chuck froze.

Sarah, on the other side of Bryce, visibly jolted.

Casey was still squinting at the monitor with a look that said he was daydreaming of the headshot he should've taken. "What," he said, and maybe he caught sight of Sarah's smile threatening to break over her face, because something hit him. "You _don't_ mean –"

"Major, meet your ... boyfriend," Beckman said.

"_What_ -" Bryce's head snapped towards the monitor, then to Casey and back. "What's going on?"

Chuck's hand flew up to his face, his eyes bulging.

Casey stayed absolutely still as the awareness settled over him. While he processed the order, his spine became ramrod straight, and Chuck could almost feel those damnable muscles swell and stiffen.

"In hell," Casey muttered, and instinctively, his hand reached for the gun all over again. He must've thought twice, though, of blowing away a venerated government agent in his living room. So instead he glanced at his kitchen knife block.

"Did you say something, Major?"

"Ma'am, I am submitting my furlough request for the holidays. As of this moment. I have the days accrued, and I -"

"Stand down, Major. You're well aware of the policy. You must give thirty days' notice before taking leave. The thirty seconds of wanting to kill Agent Larkin does not count. Request denied."

Casey growled at the thwarted attempt.

Chuck stepped forward, making a fist at his side so that his fingernails dug into his palm to hold back the laughter. Finally, it was his turn. After all of this craziness, somewhere back in D.C., Uncle Sam was repaying him, and he was really trying not to grin for the sake of professionalism.

What the hell? Why not?

"Well, isn't this going to be fun?" Chuck said, patting Bryce on the shoulder. "Watching you two lovebirds snuggling in the lounge, walking hand in hand on deck, splashing in the heart-shaped –"

"Bartowski, I carry three service revolvers on my person at all times."

Chuck squinted at him.

"Ma'am, with all due respect," Bryce said, "has the agency considered the endangerment to personnel?"

"What do you mean?"

Bryce motioned towards Casey. "In light of the ... history between the Major and I -"

"He's referring to me shooting him. _Twice_," Casey hastened to explain.

"- that this is perhaps not in the best interest of the -"

"Enough, gentlemen," Beckman cut in like a knife. Man, she looked pissed. The General definitely did not see the humor in it, but the whole 'nuclear weapons for sale' thing always got her undies in bunch. "This is called undercover work. Perhaps you're familiar with the concept? Spy work? I expect you to follow orders. I expect you to do what it takes to get the job done. Is that understood?"

"General, perhaps it's riskier to have the Intersect _not_ partnered with a spy," Casey offered up.

"Uh-oh." Chuck flinched. That proved how desperate Casey was to avoid bedding Larkin. He'd bed a nerd.

"I volunteer to be the ..." Casey had to break if off there and brace himself, because it was killing him to finish the sentence. "_Boyfriend_ of the Intersect."

Yep, there is was. Utter cold desperation.

"Ma'am, so do I." Bryce pushed a hand through his thick dark hair and smiled, which was something he used to do in college before ... exams, Chuck remembered. "I'll be the Intersect's boyfriend. I don't have to remind the present audience that I have ... experience in this matter."

Chuck took a deep breath, because really Bryce? _After you fucked me over with Jill, now you have to play that card? _

"Look whose dance card is full," Sarah whispered to him. "The boys are circling like buzzards. You don't have to be worried about being the girl sitting on the sidelines."

No, right now he was more worried about the fact that Sarah referred to him as a girl.

"General, there is a problem that the geniuses at the agency haven't thought through," Chuck said.

"What is that, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Casey is the best salesman Big Mike has. And I'll say rather humbly that I'm his best nerd. There is no way we can get time away the week before Christmas."

"That will be arranged. It seems the two of you have come down with influenza."

Chuck shook his head. "Won't it look suspicious that both of us get the bug right before Christmas?"

"Er, Chuck?" Sarah hesitated, buying some time by looking between the two of them before politely clearing her throat. "You two live in the same apartment complex, carpool together, and have lunch on Casey's timed breaks at the same table in the break room every day. When he snaps his fingers, you come running. Trust me, people are already suspicious."

"Great," Chuck muttered under his breath. "Now people think you and I became 'friends' because I'm boffing the scariest person on the planet."

Casey took a break from sending daggers to Bryce to scowl at Chuck. "What did you say?"

"Keep me out of this." Chuck backed up a step. "Not my fault."

Sarah gave him a minute head shake, laced with a quiet warning. He almost asked her how she could do that while at the same time biting down on her lip to fight down the laughter. "Director, another question, if I may. Will I be benched for this mission, considering the ... unusual circumstances?"

"No, Sarah," Graham answered. "We need you as back-up – in case the Intersect gets into another _situation_." It was downright impossible not to know he meant the clumsy nerd stumbling into a life and death moment right then. "You will be bar staff this time, and be ready to move in when Chuck identifies the contact."

"Yes, sir. Understood." She looked at Chuck for a split-second before her gaze traveled down the row of men, faces in various stages of irritation. Casey looked to be doing the worse, while Bryce just seemed to be blinking a lot. "I'll keep a close eye on the happy couples."

"Couples?" Chuck gave her a cautious look. "Hang on. The … asset? I didn't hear how the _asset_ fits into this little ménage a trois."

"Ma'am, if duty calls, I can step in as the asset's –"

"Major, that will be enough. For the next five nights and six days, Bryce Larkin is your lover. End of discussion."

Chuck waited for Casey to stop scowling and get back in line next to his ... boyfriend. The shock seemed to make his body rigid as a bowstring, as if Chuck could touch him and hear a harrowing creak.

God, if he didn't stop smiling he was going to get a size thirteen boot up his ass.

But in all the excitement, one last niggling detail hit the kid.

"One last thing. You said I'm not bunking with a spy ... and that means _what_ exactly?" Chuck shot a puzzled look at the bosses and folded his arms over his chest. "Because I'd like to know who I'm crashing with during this little Love Boat scenario the government has cooked up. You may have noticed, but I don't exactly have a boyfriend."

Did the General always have to look so damn exasperated when he asked a question? Because Chuck felt it was a valid inquiry, and he did have the right to know who his new fake gay lover would be for the next six days.

"That has been arranged, Mr. Bartowski," Beckman responded, squelching further discussion. Her finger hovered over a button as she prepared to end the video feed. "And team? Bon Voyage."

If either Casey or Bryce had something to say about that, no sound was forthcoming. In fact, Chuck was half tempted to press on Casey's bicep to see if he was still breathing.

On the bright side, the two hated enemies shared something for the first time ever, Chuck thought. Disbelieving stares of horror.

"Enjoy your cruise," Graham added coolly, and the screen went dark.

**-x- End The Odd Quadruple Chapter One - x-**

**A/N 2:** Did you know that almost all of the Love Boat episodes had _three_ titles, not just one? (One for each of the romantic subplots, for those of you that don't remember the show. *cough*) Hoping for inspiration on a story title, I browsed through the entire list of episodes and stumbled upon The Odd Triple. So even with my vast mathematical skills, I could still add one and come up with The Odd Quadruple, which fits perfectly for this scenario.

Now we just have to find Chuck a date. Hm. : )

I love to hear from anyone who stops by and reads! Trust me when I say all writers who post out here in the wilds live for feedback of any kind. It especially helps when some crazy person *again, cough* decides to post an entire novel within a month or so. Encouragement is gasoline! Thank you so much for being here!

Til next time,

-skye

18


	2. Chapter 2

**The Odd Quadruple **

**Chapter Two**

**December 18 2007  
En route to the Buy More  
09:47 PST**

-x-

The term deathly silence took on a whole meaning this morning. Who knew that it really _could_ chill the air enough to feel as if there was a cadaver in the room?

Or in this event, the car, since he and Casey were currently taking the speed limit rule as a suggestion and muscling their way down Interstate 5. It figured that the briefing not only made both of them gay, it made them late for their shift.

Typically, Chuck spent the commute playing with Casey's push buttons on the radio, or just pushing his buttons. The ones on the dashboard were such a cool relic from the eighties that he couldn't help himself, so this would go on until Casey batted his hand away.

After that, Chuck would spend a few minutes drumming his fingers on the glove compartment to the riffs of bands he only vaguely remembered. Even Casey would turn the volume knob – which was another fun fact about the Vic, that it had one of those – and move a finger on the steering wheel when Roundabout hit the airwaves.

So when Chuck reached forward to fiddle with the radio, it made him jolt to feel the slap across his fingers. "Don't turn it on," Casey grumbled. "I want quiet."

"But it's one of your favorites," Chuck pointed out, wiggling his fingers to get the feeling back. Man, he had a hard slap. "I thought you liked –"

"You know, one of the options to get out of this is to kill you."

"Kill?" Chuck stopped fiddling and looked from his handler's stormy profile to the bumper of an eighteen wheeler, noticing that Casey's rental was getting close enough to climb inside of it. "This may be the appropriate time to remind you of one simple fact. I'm the Intersect. Precious Government Property? Your asset?"

Casey shrugged. "It's on the table, Bartowski."

"Wouldn't you rather kill Bryce?" Chuck offered.

"My first option. Yeah, finally kill Bryce Larkin. But Bryce isn't sitting in my rental car playing with the dials right now while I'm trying to decide how to kill him." He took his eyes off the road to make sure Chuck saw the death glare, and then cut around the semi-trailer with a move that would have Chuck checking his pants later. "You did notice the use of the word rental in that sentence?"

"Well, since it's only quarter to ten and you already alluded to the unfortunate event twice, I kind of guessed you hadn't forgotten."

"Still saving up your pennies? A crown jewel like that doesn't come cheap, you know."

"You do know that on a Buy More salary, it will take years to save up – what? Ten thousand dollars? Besides, Sarah told me that the government's getting you a replacement – something about a car dying in the line of duty?"

Casey eyed him, obviously wondering when Sarah became such a big mouth. Clearly, it took some of the fun out of his day. "Bet you can't wait to blow that one up too, eh, Intersect?"

"I won't even park next to it." Chuck held up three fingers like the good Boy Scout that he never was. "I promise."

The skeptical look came with a grunt. Chuck took that as_ damn right, you won't_.

Chuck was quiet for a half minute, listening to the whirr of the tires and the ringing silence, since touching the radio was verboten. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you -"

"Don't."

"It's not about your – what is the word we should use that isn't going to get me killed? Significant other?"

Casey changed lanes in a near-violent move. "So many places to hide the body between here and the Buy More," he said under his breath, and Chuck actually caught him scoping out an old ugly building along the service drive that looked empty.

"What I meant was, where does someone go to rent a car from the eighties?" He paused, taking a moment to pretend to admire the fake wood grain dashboard and the bench seat. "You don't just go into Avis and say you want a car from the Reagan era, do you?"

"You have something against that era? Or my car?"

Two-for-one way to get killed, just by answering that question.

"You're missing my point." Chuck scooted over a bit closer to the passenger door - well, in truth he was pressed against it – and tested the handle. Locked. Why was it that the one feature the relic had was child safety locks? "I was only curious, that's all. I guess I made the mistake of trying to make small talk."

"Your _curiosity_ got us into this mess," Casey said, giving a smirk that said finally he could enjoy the conversation.

"All right. Fine." Chuck huffed. "I'll just get to the point. Who is the fourth person?"

"Worried they're not going to find someone nice enough to hold the door open for you?" Casey made a point of sweeping a glance over the kid as if appraising Chuck's odds. "Don't you fret, Bartowski. I'm sure the agency has arranged for the man-nerd of your dreams from this year's new crop of spies. Probably took some digging, but I bet there was at least one willing to carry you over the threshold."

Chuck stared at him for so long that he didn't even notice they were pulling off at the Buy More exit. "Why is it that both you and Sarah insinuated that?"

"What?"

"Sarah said something about being a _girl_ who doesn't have to worry about having her dance card filled? And now that? What makes you think I'm, well, you know –"

"The girl?"

The kid stopped playing with the door handle and scowled. "I was going to say emotionally balanced with the ability to communicate in times of stress rather than withdraw into a cave."

"Good, we're saying the same thing."

Chuck's scowl deepened. "You know what? You can just sit over there behind the wheel of your antiquated rental car, and live with your clogged up emotions, all bottled up and steaming – and maybe when you decide you want to talk to someone about your conflicted feelings related to _Bryce_ –"

"Do hate, loathe, and detest sound like a conflict of emotions to you?"

Chuck squinted at him, but there was no joking about it. "When you put it that way, I guess not."

"And I don't plan on getting _curious_ with him, either. Just because we're in close quarters together?"

"You know, don't take this the wrong way," Chuck muttered towards his window, "but you can be a real dick head sometimes."

Casey snorted softly.

"Sure, you say that now. But he can be very charming – and persuasive. Just warning you."

"That's the whole reason for a CCW."

"CCW?"

"Carrying a concealed weapon. One bit of persuasion from that little prick and he gets plugged between those snake eyes."

"Casey, you can hardly call those snake eyes. I mean, come on." Chuck looked down at his lukewarm coffee which he had forgotten, sitting in the cup holder, and took a drink anyway. "Bryce's eyes could be considered an _un_concealed weapon on their own. That particular hue? The only other person I know with eyes like that is you."

Dammit, he did _not_ just –

"You _curious_ about my eyes, Bartowski?" Casey asked.

Why was it that Casey heard only half of what he said, yet picked up on that?

"Just – it's nothing, okay. Can you keep them on the road, please?" Giving up on getting a name from Casey – and desperately needing to change the topic - Chuck leaned over to the turn up the radio dial.

'_Young man, there's no need to feel down. I said, young man, pick yourself off the ground–'_

No. Not now.

Don't even think it.

He should be focusing on Blosjo. The mission.

'_It's fun to stay at the -'_

Okay, it was only natural to daydream. Wasn't it?

And right now, Chuck had to wonder ... would there be a ... costume night on board?

_Casey donned in a hard hat and low slung tool belt. Hips swiveling. Or Bryce in a feathered Native American headdress. Not to mention his future, fake, government-supplied boyfriend in full police officer regalia ..._

"Bartowski, if I hear one more line of this song –"

"Oh, sure. Sorry." Chuck jolted and snapped off the radio as quick as he could move his fingers. "I'm not really into the whole – well – there. Off."

"Keep it that way."

Silence reigned over the interior of the rental car one more time. After a minute, Chuck cleared his throat and turned to Casey. "Can you really just be serious for one question?

"Depends on the question."

"Do you know who it is? Who the agency picked? Be honest."

"Relax, princess." Casey rolled his eyes. "I'm sure they found a nice boy who will go to Ellie to ask permission for your hand in marriage."

"So the answer was no, you can't be serious for one question. Let's just leave it at that."

Watching Casey wedge the huge car into a parking spot, Chuck felt sweat forming under his white shirt. God, there were times he really hated being emotionally adjusted and having long eyelashes. There were also times he hated his handlers.

Now would be one of those times.

-x-

"Bartowski! 'Bout time you and your car_pool_ partner dragged yo' asses into work! What? You and John Casey get to spend the morning cuddled up in bed like two little _home_less puppies? While the rest of us are out on the flo' – breaking our butts to make the Christmas holiday quota!"

Chuck turned vibrant red. It occurred to him that Sarah might've been on to something with the whole 'everyone is suspicious' thing between him and Casey.

And if Big Mike sounded that angry now, how would he react when he learned his head nerd and top sales guy would be coming down with matching fevers in about three hours from now?

The tardy Nerd Herder opened his mouth to protest, or at least come up with a lame excuse, but stopped. First, it was imperative to scan the area near home appliances to be certain Casey didn't hear a word of that.

Small favors. He was out of earshot. Chuck picked him out across the store, growling and roaming back and forth in front of a mildly scratched chest freezer. It looked like the one Casey had used to dent the head of La Ciudad's minion, and now Big Mike had been trying to pawn it off at a thirty percent discount for months.

Chuck passed a few green shirts as he approached the Nerd Herd desk, nodding politely as he went. His walk became a slow shuffle when he saw Jeff and Lester leaning on the desk, watching him make his way to the center of the store.

"Good morning, Charles," Lester began, and then theatrically checked his watch. "We can still call it morning, can we not, Jeffrey?"

"In Hawaii maybe. Some of us have been working like dogs for hours," was Jeff's reply, though at the moment, they were both standing around in their usual spots.

"A bit of an exaggeration don't you think?" Chuck looked down at the desk, noticing the work orders already piling up. "Besides, we're only twenty minutes late."

"And Casey looks pissed," Jeff said, and it sounded like the one bright spot of the morning for him. "Didn't get his usual breakfast in bed?"

Chuck clenched his jaw and shot a glance at the big guy. The 'Bryce is Your New Boyfriend' cover had him pacing like a trapped polar bear in aisle seven. "I wouldn't know. Why don't you ask him, gentlemen?"

The duo flinched outwardly and turned their attention back to the weaker gazelle. "You know, Charles, your ... carpool _partner_ might lose the killer persona if you lock the break room door at lunchtime." Lester winked.

This was perplexing. "Sure, whatever," Chuck answered, and he began sorting through work orders. Casey would never lose that persona, but they couldn't know that. "Hey, did you take care of the modem on this -"

"Yeah, there's a key hidden behind the aspirin bottle in the medical supply cabinet." Jeff winked this time, ignoring the Dell's modem _and_ Chuck. "You can lock the door. Someday, when I get Anna alone ... or myself ..."

"Jeffrey." Lester lifted a hand. "What my friend is trying to say is that if you butter the muffin -"

"Stud muffin," Jeff broke in.

"- we won't have to worry all day about getting our faces plowed into a locker, now, will we, Charles?"

Chuck blinked. He'd come straight from a briefing where his ex-roommate barged in, then was told, no, _ordered_ to be partnered with a government-selected boyfriend, and now the implication of Lester's leer was that he already had a secret government-selected boyfriend.

"You can drop your insinuation, because Casey and I are not -"

"Oh, we are beyond that, my friend," Lester said, peering over at Casey's aisle with some trepidation. Quickly looking away, the small man rose on his toes. "And may we remind you, it is your duty as -"

"Car pool partner," Jeff inserted.

"- to keep that man of yours ... in breakfast rolls." Lester gave him a look that said this dereliction of his duty was worse than being late. "We don't want to be forced to watch our backs all day. He gets _angry_, Charles."

Chuck accidently broke the pencil he was using to jot notes on the work orders. "Listen, guys, I don't know what is going on here, but for one, Casey and I just carpool together, and two, I don't butter his muffin in the break room."

"Okay, then my stall is empty at the moment," Jeff said, tipping his head towards the men's room. "I won't even charge you the usual fee, but I have dibs at ten fifteen, so if you can make it a quick one ... Oh, and it's not really hand soap in the dispenser." He gave that one-eyed creepy wink of his, and ended it there.

Chuck repressed a shiver. "Uh, thanks, Jeff, for the offer, but I think I'll take a pass on that." It took all his effort to keep his face controlled as he turned to Lester and handed him a stack of the work orders. "How about taking a look at the -"

"Casey's other car had tinted windows at least," Lester reminded them, pushing a hand through his hair. "Think of the possibilities, Jeffrey!"

"Okay, you know what? I'm leaving now." Slapping the work orders in Lester's chest, Chuck turned abruptly to get away from the desk, because the cage would be the only safe place this morning. There were enough dead computers to keep him busy for hours, and away from accusing eyes. "Have fun, guys."

"Hey, what – what happened to Casey's old car, anyway?" he heard Jeff call out behind his back.

Taking that as his cue, Chuck picked up the pace, heading to the back of the store and avoiding even a glimpse to the right at his angry handler now stalking a customer in the camera aisle. God help them if that was about returning defective merchandise. Talk about clean-up in aisle four.

"Chuck! You're not gonna believe it, man!"

Chuck jerked around in surprise as Morgan rounded Santa's Winter Wonder Land and Discount Printer Village. "Whoa, little buddy." While his friend slid to a stop, the kid reached out to right the plastic elf that nearly toppled in his wake. "What's up? Usually you're not this excited on a holiday rush work day."

"Dude. You're not going to be able to wrap your mind around it." Morgan got up on his toes to look over the shelves while brushing at loose flakes of imitation snow that had clung to his green shirt. "This way. We can't let anyone hear this!"

Chuck started walking again. "Then you might want to consider not shouting."

"Good point – the whole thing has me a little -" Breaking it off there, his bearded friend picked up a pile of DVDs and began to appear busy by stocking the shelves. It was code for _we have to talk_. "It's crazy, it is. I can't believe it ... this has never happened to me."

"Really?" Chuck clapped him on the shoulder. "Good for you. Give Anna my congrats, but I have to get -"

"No! You're joking, aren't you? Yes, you're joking. Oh, Chuck. It's waaay bigger than that." Without giving Chuck the chance to dig in his heels, Morgan dropped the DVDs and took him by the arm, steering him behind the Buy More credit card application display. "It's a Christmas Miracle!" His forehead wrinkled in deep thought. "Oh, my God. The _Miracle_. That is not a coincidence."

"Listen, buddy," Chuck said, even though he knew Morgan was beyond hearing him. "Whatever it is, can it wait until lunch break?" He peeled each of Morgan's tightly clasped fingers from his arm. "Big Mike is on the war path because we got in a ... little late."

"Oh, that reminds me," Morgan said, and scoping out the area, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "I've wanted to tell you – you may want to either stop carpooling with Casey, or take your lunch breaks at different times." Morgan dramatically touched the side of his nose. "People are beginning to wonder what you see in 'Mr. Scary the Way I Fill Out a Green Shirt'."

God. Why does Sarah always have to be right?

Flicking a look across the store at the tight green shirt in question, Chuck felt his cheeks going from flushed to crimson. "Why didn't you tell -"

"Because I'm telling you now," Morgan explained quickly. His hands flew up in a peacemaking gesture. "And no judging from me, right? Jill, Bryce, Sarah, Casey – I get it. It's like a poncho with you, dude. One size fits all, and I admire you for your -"

"Please, Morgan." Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose. "Stop talking."

"Fine. I get it. Whenever you're ready, you know where to find me." Morgan shrugged. His serious look abruptly turned to a grin, and whatever this was about, Chuck could see him rise to his tip toes and waggle his eyebrows. "Are you ready to hear this?"

"You say that like I have a choice. What is it?"

"Dude!" Morgan burst out, and he lifted a victory fist in the air. "I won a cruise!"

"Wh-what?" Chuck slanted his head at the ecstatic bearded man. If it took great effort before this to remain calm, his current acting hatchet job could only be described as Mighty Thor level of effort.

"You heard me!"

"A ... cr-cruise?"

"Yes! I'm going to be Captain Stubing!" Morgan crowed, but then pursed his lips in a little frown. "Except the ship is the Miracle, not the Love Boat – but that's the only difference, I swear."

God, no. They wouldn't.

Chuck had to fight a cough, but before he ran screaming, he told himself that it was ridiculous to even think it. It couldn't be. It was just a ... a funny coincidence.

"How ... how on earth did you – are you sure?"

"Of course. It was KROC station 107.5. A contest! And I won it!"

Words and voices were sloshing around in his head as he tried to play catch-up, so the kid thought it pertinent to ask, "The ... radio? Like, songs?"

Morgan just looked up at him and shook his head. "You okay, man? The _radio_? What else would it be? Yes, the radio! You know, 'Wake up with the Boozer?' Charlie Booz?" The smaller man started to hum the tag line and chuckled. "I always think of Jeff at that."

"What – Morgan, that's ... that's great," Chuck said, panic beginning to swirl. "So you leave next week ... next year?"

"No, see, that's the great thing about it. There was a stipulation when they called to announce _moi_ and yours truly as the winner."

"Stipulation?" He felt the blood drain from his face. The government wouldn't do this to him on top of the whole little ruin-your-life-with-the-Intersect thing, would they? "Morgan, are you sure about this?"

"Here's the deal. I have to be able to leave this evening."

"This _evening_?" Chuck tried to keep his voice steady, but the screechiness had begun to creep in. "Where ... are you going?"

"They said put on your best swim trunks – that's the way the said it, just like that with the little excited emphasis on trunks! - because the destination is _Puerto Vallarta_." The last bit was said in passably decent Ricardo Montalban accent. "That's not the best part."

"Morgan, I have to ask. Do you even remember entering a contest?"

"Oh, you know ... more or less." Morgan scratched a hand through his beard. "Nah! But who cares. Dude, I'm going to Mexico – tonight!"

"Are you sure it wasn't a ... scam?" Chuck shoved his hands in his pockets and made fists, because if Morgan knew how much of a scam this was, there would be no end to the – well, let's face it, freaking _excitement_ of having a best friend for a robot-spy-computer. "How do you know it was real?" Chuck asked. "I mean, you didn't even enter the -"

"This," Morgan interrupted, and he reached under his shirt and pulled out a Fed Ex envelope, flourishing it in front of Chuck's startled face. "It was all in here. Tickets, vouchers, hell, even a limo to the port! I'm going in a limo! God, I hope its black, and not one of those tricked-out Hummers? You know what I mean, Chuck? Especially the white ones? Because those things are just embarrassing – hey, would Bond be seen in one? Or Dirty Harry -"

"Um, that's great, Morgan." In his nervousness to spot Casey, Chuck dropped the work order he had been absently crumpling.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

"Sure. This is great," Chuck said, scooping up the papers. He had to think he was doing all right at not showing the fact that his brain was shutting down. "You know what? I have to go find Casey, but you can tell me all about it ... at lunch?"

Morgan took hold of his arm and got on his tip toes to get closer to Chuck's ear. "Chuck. The best part – you forgot to ask."

"There's something better?"

"You! I get to take one person, and I choose you!" Morgan froze there with his spindly arms wide, waiting for Chuck to jump up and down or do something.

Chuck went stock still. "Me?" His eyes darted to aisle four, because where the hell was Casey! "Not ... Anna?"

"Man, I know you're okay with this," Morgan said, leaning in closer, "but it's a g-a-y cruise."

"But – but you're not gay!" Chuck hissed, since it seemed important.

"Details, smetails!" Morgan dismissed this with a wave of his hand, grinning. "And you're – well – enough for both of us, man."

"Morgan, we've talked about this," Chuck remarked between his teeth, and he made a ploy of reorganizing the work orders to avoid looking up. "Back at school, I was just trying to figure things out, okay?"

"Buddy, look at you." Morgan nodded at him sagely as he tucked the envelope back in his pants. "Not even your hair is straight, okay? Oh, and think about it – I already have the hat and jacket that I wore on the Taiwanese guy's yacht. Mr. Muckety-Muck? Just need to get the shrimp sauce out of the lapel. Hey, does Ellie have anything for that?"

Chuck took a moment to stare. "You know, I'm leaving now," he announced, craning his neck to find a certain green shirt. "Not ... not that I'm not happy for you, Morgan, it's just that -"

"Happy for us, man!" Morgan corrected.

Seeing that Morgan was beginning to deflate, Chuck flashed a quick smile. "Yes – us, but I need to take care of something and – can we talk at lunch?"

"Good thinking." Morgan lifted his head like a periscope to scan the area near Big Mike's office. "We need to come up with a plan to get out of here for six days without losing our jobs," he whispered urgently. "I was thinking alien abduction in the desert where they find us both naked and dazed in one of those circular impact craters?"

"Consider me crazy, Morgan, but you may need to -"

"Or pirates! Pirate kidnapping. Not like a pirate from the movies – argh, matey – no, no, no – nothing like that. I mean real pirates. The ones that ambush ships off the coast of Gambia and -"

"Might need some refinement as well, buddy." Chuck felt panic winding up and down his spine, but he managed to hide it by giving a polite nod to a passing customer. When the man walked by, he turned to Morgan. "Have you seen Casey?"

"Wait. We have to make our plans," Morgan said. "Lunch today. You. Me. The loading platform. A large pizza from the food court. Let's sort this out." Morgan moved out of his way and made a hm noise. "I like this plan. It'll kill two birds with one stone."

"How is that?"

"We get our plans lined up, and you'll be seen eating lunch outside of the break room without your – I mean, _without_ Casey."

Chuck didn't point out that because of surveillance that would rival Fort Knox, he was never _without_ Casey. "You know, this time I am leaving," he said, turning towards the Employees Only exit.

"Lunch – don't forget," Morgan said behind his back. "Oh, and Chuck? You're going the wrong way. He went into the Home Entertainment room a minute ago." There was a pause. "This is good. You can break the news to him without prying eyes."

Chuck did a one eighty turn and strode towards the media room.

-x-

"Are you _insane!"_ Chuck scrambled into the darkened room and closed the glass door behind him. He very carefully tried not to shout at the much larger man, but it was a struggle. "The answer is no."

"Five – four – three – eh."

Chuck heard a beep. "What are you doing?"

Casey grunted and looked at his phone before waggling it in Chuck's direction. "Right on time."

"No, you don't get it. This is not happening." Chuck pointed a finger at the NSA agent, who looked like he had taken a break from cleaning up wrappers some kids had left behind in order to mock him. "You need to get Beckman on the phone and tell her –"

"Not bad, Bartowski."

"Are you listening to me? What's with the phone?"

"The bosses just sent a text outlining the final detail of the mission," Casey said. "Knew it would be a matter of sixty seconds before you came running in here screaming like a little girl when you had a chat with the troll." He examined the countdown display. "One of your best times, sport. You got in here with less than two seconds to spare."

Chuck folded his arms over his chest. "I said the answer is no. That is my rule and it's non-negotiable. I think I've given up enough to protect our country."

Casey snorted.

"Really?" Chuck answered, affronted. "Maybe you've forgotten a few things, Casey. In the past four months, I've had bullets whizzing by my head, I've admired the view of the street from a seven story balcony – while I was _tied to a chair_. I've been drugged -"

"You lived," Casey said, going back to picking up wrappers.

"- and I found out the hard way that I do indeed fit in the trunk of a car!"

"Good thing you fold up like a tent, eh?"

Chuck did his best to square his shoulders. "This cannot and will not happen. My family and my friends? They stay out of your spy work. End of discussion."

"Or else what?" Casey asked.

"Or – or else the Intersect might stop working, that's what else," Chuck answered. He took a timeout to wisely pull the blinds closed for privacy, and the last thing he saw before the curtains met was Jeff giving a thumbs up. He tried not to think about it.

"Stop working?"

Uh-oh. The fact that he had just threatened a man who could gut him with a spork should bother him, but hell. He had already gone all in.

"That's right. I may not flash anymore." Chuck put more force in his voice. "Or if I do – I may forget what was in those flashes. Did our government, in all of its wisdom, think of that?"

The truth was he would never put lives at risk by withholding data, but with emotions rocketing, it felt good to say it.

But that struck a nerve with Casey.

One second he was standing toe to toe with the big guy, and the next, Casey had grabbed hold of his shirt front and yanked him within a hairsbreadth of his face.

"Casey –"

"Did you just threaten me?" Casey rumbled.

Chuck's vision was immediately filled with intense, bright blue eyes – and yep, they were exactly like Bryce's. "Uh, that might've come out wrong."

"And there might be other ways to get the Intel out of you. Did you think of that?"

He swallowed. The amount of body heat that man could throw out doused the room in warmth. The whole confusing shot of fire made the kid curse the agency drones, who in their wisdom, sent a man equal parts hot and terrifying to watch over him. "I – there's no scientific evidence that physical violence would provide the appropriate triggers."

"We can find out," Casey suggested, giving him a little shake.

"For once, can you be reasonable?" Chuck questioned why he asked that, though, since Casey had never shown a sign of that particular characteristic when he was angry. Or ever.

"I'm reasonably sure I could find a trigger."

"Come on, there has to be another way. This is the NSA! Can't they come up with anything else?" The pleading look, coupled with the boot-licking comment about Casey's agency, was the only hope he had of getting the strangulation hold loosened a bit. "Don't you think they're above pulling something like this?"

"You'll be fine. Both of you," Casey told him, and bit by bit, a few fingers unclenched. "The bearded gnome won't even know he's being used as a pawn in bringing down a nuclear technology dealer."

Which in a way was too bad, because Chuck was certain Morgan would find that the epitome of awesome.

"So, you didn't know about this?" Chuck tried not to squirm since Casey hadn't completely let go of his neck, and if there was ever a time to man-up, this would be it. "Not until Beckman contacted you a few minutes ago?"

"Don't believe me?" Casey asked. It took forever, though, with only the low hum of the ventilation system filling the room, for Casey to fully release him. Obviously, being challenged by a nerd had given him a bad moment, and therefore he was duty-bound to reciprocate the feeling. "See for yourself."

Frowning, Chuck read the display on Casey's phone. "That's the General's text?"

"Orders that the troll will be your _beard_ of a bunkmate."

"I still hate this."

"He'll be fine. He won't even know what's going on. And think of it this way: you get six days on board, eating lobster, lounging at the pool, and losing money in the casino – all on the taxpayer's dime." He growled at the last bit of news.

"Will the government be floating another hundred thousand at the casino? Intersect work isn't even minimum wage."

"So that you can crap it out at the roulette table?"

"You should've warned me," Chuck said defensively, but knowing it was useless to argue, he blew a breath. "Is that all there is to it? Morgan and I get to hang out on the cruise ship ... and wait for me to flash?"

"Not the usual way the two of you nerds hang out, Bartowski. No roast beef sandwiches and kiddie games while you're locked in your room. I want you taking part in every activity. Mingling and flirting with every man on board."

"What – _flirting_? I'm not so sure about –"

"Because the sooner you flash, the sooner we get the hell out of there."

"The real motivator shines through, hm, Casey?" Chuck fixed in his mind, however, to do a deep dive on the cruise's website. He needed to read up on the onboard activities, since who knew what the government expected?

"That's right. And after you flash, do you want to know what you do?"

"Uh, well –"

"You do nothing," Casey finished for him, picking up an empty pop can that had been left between the cushions. "Just sit back in your lounge chair, get the hell out of the way, and leave the spy work to the adults. Can you handle that?"

"Eating, drinking, and lounging by the pool? It has promise, I'll give you that much. "Maybe there's one of those giant waterslides?" More importantly, would his Xbox fit in the suitcase? "Okay, a bit of clarification on one point. Do Morgan and I have to hold hands?"

"Figure it out," Casey said.

"That's not an answer."

"Time's up." Casey steered Chuck towards the door. "Get back to work, and tell those imbeciles out there that when I find out what's amusing them, I will rip those smiles from their jaws."

If he found out, Jeff and Lester would be lucky if that was all he ripped from them.

"You're still wrinkling my shirt," Chuck reminded him, wriggling out of Casey's hold.

"Can't have that, can we, Intersect?" Casey let go, combining it with a little push. "Gotta look nice for your _boyfriend_ today, eh?"

"That's what this little burst of violence is about, isn't it?"

Casey glared. "What."

"It's not about me getting angry with Beckman," Chuck explained, tentatively backing up to ensure the sofa was between them. "It's about the agency's choice of a fake boyfriend for you, so I get it. You must be feeling ... trapped right now, and believe me, I can relate to your emotions."

Casey adjusted his stance. Warrior-mode. Thankfully he did not turn and kill him with his elbow. Since Chuck was pretty sure he could do that.

"Why are you still here, Bartowski?" Casey's voice held the ring of a quiet threat. "Get back to work."

"Because I need your help."

Hearing that, Casey paused in the middle of turning off the TV. He eyed him up and down. "Is this one of your nerd jokes?"

"Not quite. Here's the thing: are you going to keep plotting the dozen ways to kill Bryce while we're on the ship - or are you going to help me come up with a plan to deal with Morgan Grimes?"

Casey thought long and hard for a moment, then crushed the can between his fingers.

"Both," he said.

-x-

"_You're supposed to be the Master here, aren't you? Trained assassin and overall Major Kickass? So what am I supposed to do?"_

"_First, get that whiny sound out of your voice."_

"_I was not whining. I have allergies, you know."_

_Casey made a skeptical noise and adopted a stance Chuck recognized as the 'time to get schooled, Intersect' posture. "You have to look like you are going to have fun, Bartowski. Excited, not ... sweaty. You have to keep your girly feelings tamped down." _

"_Can we do this without the usual putdowns and sarcasm?"_

_Casey arched a brow, a warning that he was not to contribute to the lesson. _

_When the kid's mouth snapped shut, he continued on in that matter-of-fact way of his. "You will join in all of the activities from bow to stern, and get a good look at every man on board." _

"_Every activity? Because some of these events may be physical in nature, and you may have noticed that we're not built for kick boxing or Hatha yoga –"_

_The low growl of warning shut him up. "And the millisecond that you flash on Blosjos's contact, you will inform Agent Walker and I of the whereabouts and get your bony ass out of the way."_

"_What about Bryce? Isn't he part of the spy team for this mission?"_

_Casey gave him a bland look. "Does any of this sound difficult to you, Bartowski?"_

"_For the record, the NSA might've left out few planning details in the mission parameters that we should discuss."_

"_Such as?" Casey demanded, sounding doubtful._

"_Such as this: Morgan thinks Bryce is dead – what about that? Did any of the geniuses at your agency think of that? Oh, sorry – sorry," Chuck blurted and backpedaled, watching Casey give him a squint. "Forget the last part, okay. Just tell me what on earth I'm supposed to say to him."_

_Casey rolled his eyes. "Mistaken identity in cadaver dental records happens all the time. Just make something up, and remember, keep it simple."_

"Bryce is alive?" Morgan almost sputtered out a mouthful of root beer at the revelation. "How – I thought he died in a robbery."

"I guess ... I hear these things happen all the time," Chuck said, fidgeting. He covered up his discomfort by flipping open the pizza box and scooping up another slice. "They said it was a case of mistaken identity."

Morgan took a bite and chewed as he thought about it, staring out over the back parking lot. The best friends sat on the end of the loading platform, feet dangling as they polished off the Meaty Delight special. "Why didn't he come forward right away? You know, say 'Hey, you're burying the wrong insanely good-looking guy'? I mean think about it, dude. How many people are there walking this earth who look like Bryce Larkin?"

"Um." Why was this not covered in the twenty minute tutorial on how to build an ironclad cover? "Well ... he was out of the country."

"Not reachable?" Morgan managed between bites.

"I ... I think it was on a mediation retreat to ... India?"

"To see the short guy in the yellow robe? Glasses?"

"The Dalai Lama? Of ... course." Chuck grabbed his drink cup. "I don't think he's that short. I think it's just the angle of the pictures. He's ... on his knees a lot?" He so wanted to strangle Casey and the NSA for this.

"Man, I didn't realize Bryce was into the whole internal quest for peace thing."

"I think ... after he became an accountant, he was looking for something to relieve the ... stress of his job." Chuck cringed at the stupidity of his argument, and filled the time by picking off a suspicious looking mushroom that had somehow made its way onto a Meaty.

Seriously, was Morgan really going to believe that accounting was a profession that required the intervention of spiritual teachers?

"Bryce couldn't handle the bookkeeping. Huh."

"I think spreadsheets with financial algorithms have been proven to ... cause anxiety ... or something?"

Morgan considered it as he took a long slurp from his drink. "All right, man, I can picture Bryce shaking hands with the leader of the Tibetan Buddhists, but I have to ask you the million dollar question." He set down his drink and took great care to wipe his mouth. "How did _John Casey_ meet Bryce Larkin?"

Crap. Because now that Chuck had dumped the news on Morgan that Bryce was alive, he had to inform his best friend that his nemesis was also booked on same cruise that they were taking, and that Bryce was John Casey's boyfriend.

Two reactions, really. One, he wanted to slam his head against the crates of side-by-side refrigerators, because really, God? Two, he couldn't help it - Chuck snickered into his pink lemonade.

That was the only part of the mission making this scenario even remotely palatable.

"Um, I think ... well, I believe Casey said ..."

"Hey, man, I get it." Morgan didn't look up as he pawed around the inside of the box for another slice. "Bryce is Casey's accountant, right? So, Casey went to him for tax advice and it was love at first grunt? That's how they met?"

"_He's never going to believe the two of you are dating."_

"_Why the hell not?" Casey frowned and glanced at the curtain. "He thinks Wookies are real, doesn't he?"_

"_Casey, can we focus here for just a moment? I know to the NSA this is a bit of a humorous situation –_"

"_Humorous. Eh. So you won't be crying when Bryce's body washes up to shore?_ "

"_See? That's what I mean. How can I convince him you and Bryce are dating?!"_

"_Don't make up any nerd stories about this. You keep it as simple as you possibly can. Got it?"_

"Uh, skydiving – that was it. I think Casey said ... skydiving?" Chuck took a huge bite, since he really needed to stop talking for a minute. "Not the kind where you strap yourself to an experienced diver – it wasn't tandem jumping."

"Right," Morgan said, "because that would be too wussy for Casey."

"Of course," Chuck said, looking over at him quickly. "So Bryce and Casey have the same ... hobby, and they were assigned to the same plane at the diving center."

"_Don't embellish the story with any of those damn fantasies you get from watching too much TV," Casey warned. "Details just create nets to get caught in later."_

"But how? I mean, even in an airplane, Casey wouldn't talk to anyone unless he had to, right?"

"Well." Chuck rubbed the back of his neck. "Bryce's chute didn't open on the way down. When they were supposed to pull the cord? Nothing."

"Whoa, dude. He almost died – again?"

"Except for Casey – he – he ... swam through the air to get to him."

Chuck repressed a wince at his own inanity, but hell, he was already in up to his chest. Besides, this was the NSA's fault for not thinking through the details. Why would they leave it to a person with a rather vivid imagination to embellish?

"_Swam_?" Morgan asked.

"You ... you know how divers can do that before their chute opens?"

"Like a ..." Morgan set down his drink to imitate a modified dog paddle. "Like that?"

"Well, more like this," Chuck said. Naturally, he had answered too soon, and now he would have to demonstrate, so he cringed before scooping his arms out to the side. "Casey did this. At four thousand feet."

"Man! That is so cool!" Shaking his head in amazement, Morgan polished off his last bite. "Hey, do you think we can find that on YouTube?"

"Um, unfortunately, witnesses were too flabbergasted to take out their phones."

"Wow. He's still cool."

"And by the time they ... _floated down_ together, Bryce had Casey's cell number."

_You say nothing else, Bartowski, about Bryce and I being ... together - besides that fact that we are. At least for the next six days or 'until death do us part'." Casey smirked. "He'll be too excited to think straight, anyway – not that straight is the term here."_

"Chuck, I'm such a fool," Morgan said. He frowned to himself and ran a hand over his beard. "How could I be so cold?"

"Why would you say that?"

"You are my best friend, and here I am gloating over the trip – when your heart has to be torn to little shreds, man!"

"I'm fine." Chuck busied himself with folding up the empty box. "Really, whatever this is about, it's okay."

"'Whatever it's about'? Are you _kidding_ me?" Morgan looked past his shoulder to make sure they were alone on the loading dock. "Chuck! Your ex-college roommate and college experimentation is now going on a joy ride with one of your current infatuations? I'm sorry, okay? I think I could show a little more empathy to the guy who shares every one of my life secrets."

At that exact moment, Chuck hoped Casey didn't have the foresight to install surveillance on the back loading dock. Checking the upper corners under the roofline, he then glanced down at his tracker watch. "I think our break is over. Want to run through it one more time?"

Morgan stuffed the two-for-one coupon in his pocket. "In the next hour, both of us will have a fever and slimy coughs. I will meet you at Ellie's apartment at three, and then away we go – off to paradise." Morgan wrinkled his nose. "Are my clothes going to be okay, or do I need something a bit more – I don't know? Metrosexual?"

"I hear they have a sale in that department at Large Mart."

"You're joking." Morgan gave him a self-conscious smile. "Yes, you are joking."

Chuck grinned back at him. He also made a mental note to raid Awesome's closet. "Looks like ... we're going to Mexico, little buddy."

"_And just so you know, there are times like this I hate our government for its deviousness."_

_Casey lifted a shoulder. Though he was in a green shirt, everything about his deportment said 'tread carefully'. "Don't care." _

"_What do I tell Ellie?"_

"_Your usual stammering and stuttering routine should suffice, Bartowski."_

"_Ellie. Hey. It looks like I missed you again – you must be in the midst of saving lives or whatever you crazy kids do for fun. But I'm guessing from your last message, you Googled the cruise I told you about." _

_Chuck sighed heavily, bracing himself. _

"_And I'm surmising from the tone of your voice that you put the words 'Morgan' and 'gay cruise' together, your heart exploded, and that's why I had twenty-four urgent messages from you? Ellie, listen to me. I am not in a relationship with Morgan – no wait. That might not be true ... we have a relationship per se, but it's the kind where we share pizza and cheat codes, okay? Not ... anything else."_

"_Hey, El – sorry, I was with a customer who needed his 212 evo fan replaced - um – Anyway, I can tell you got my message ... and yes there is a chance I could lose my job if I take vacation days this close to Christmas. I think you figured that out, based upon the enthusiasm I heard in your voice? Because honestly, the high pitched squeal of delight gave it away. But the thing is, I don't want to discuss my future when we get back. I'll call you when we get onboard. Love ya, sis. _

"Hey, Morgan. One last thing." Chuck put a hand on his friend's shoulder and gave him a cautious look. "You might want to hold back on the enthusiasm until we're out of range of the store."

"_Last rule. Do not show any levity towards this situation, because if I see that troll even smiling at me ..." Casey breathed out heavily through his nostrils and left it at that._

"Uh-huh, uh-huh." Morgan slapped one hand on his butt and then the other, jiggling out his impromptu Macarena right there on the loading platform. "What's uupp." He added a head dip to the right, to the left. "Got my game _on_, got my game _on_ ..."

"_Oh, and one more thing, sport."_

"_Yes?" _

"_Either try to keep your dress down," Casey said, his eyes cutting over Chuck from head to toe, "or pack your birth control pills. Rumor has it there will be two thousand horny men on board. Don't need any unplanned Intersects running around LA, do we?" _

_Chuck blinked at him. "You're a bit of an asshole, you know that, Casey?" _

_The other man looked back and wadded up a wrapper, then banked it off the rim of the trashcan. _

"_Okay, then." Knowing the pep talk was now officially over, Chuck walked to the door, and then turned to his handler. "You know, you can't shoot Bryce, right?" He waited a second before clarifying. "Or Morgan?"_

_Casey hooked a thumb in his pocket. Awfully close to his SIG, Chuck noticed. _

"_Yeah," he said. "Let's go with that."_

**-x- End The Odd Quadruple Chapter Two - x-**

A/N: Anyone taking bets yet on whether Bryce Larkin will survive this story? Or Morgan? And now that I think about it, Casey?

Did you know it was Morgan? The possibility of Morgan's obliviousness with Casey and Bryce's friction was too much of a call of the Siren for me ;)

I have to say it again because that's who I am – I appreciate any and all comments, and love to hear from you. I can only hope you're having as much fun as I am. : )

Up next, anchors aweigh!

Til next time,

-skye

22


	3. Chapter 3

**The Odd Quadruple (Chapter Three)**

-x-

"So, this is cushy, isn't it Chuck?" Morgan spread his knees over the back middle seat hump and played with the flip down drink tray. "I knew there would be a drink tray. Look at this. Cool, huh?"

Chuck smiled. No one else answered.

It only seemed fair that after Bryce had called shotgun, Morgan would offer to take the dreaded hump seat in the back of the limo. Chuck or Casey would have to wear their knees in the vicinity of their chests in order to fold in there, but it wasn't too much of an issue for the little guy. Morgan was still well within reach of the gadgets and gizmos, and apparently planned to fiddle with each as much as he could during the one hour drive south on Interstate 110.

Bryce turned in his seat, glancing over his shoulder at Morgan. "Thanks again for letting us hitch a ride with you to the port. I'd hate to leave my Bimmer parked down there for the next six days. And Casey's car ... well." He slanted a look over to him. "John, what happened to your car? You never did tell the story."

Chuck, sitting behind Bryce, looked out the window and seethed in his juices. When and why did Bryce Larkin get access to their mission reports? Weren't there some things that should remain private within the confines of Team Bartowski?

"I think he got rear ended by a minivan," Morgan said when it became evident Casey would continue to scowl out the window. "I think it's in the shop. Is that right, Casey?"

Casey made a grunt of assent.

"Thank you," Chuck breathed out in relief. At least Casey wasn't in the mood to torture him about the unfortunate event.

"What?" Morgan asked.

"Nothing." Chuck gave his friend a tight smile and put a hand on his own knee to keep it from jouncing. Looking to the side, he saw that his unease with Bryce having access to their files had _nothing_ on the turmoil barely hidden by the large man sitting next to Morgan.

It didn't take a genius to pinpoint when it started. It was right about the time Bryce pulled up in his dark navy BMW, wearing his sunglasses, pressed khakis, and his composed personae. Just the sight of him made Chuck – and perhaps Casey, judging by the way his face had gone white - realize that the briefing this morning wasn't a mere joke Beckman had dreamed up to liven up the holidays.

And the NSA agent might consider himself the ultimate professional in all battle-ready situations, but this? It seemed to be testing his mettle. For one, Casey scarcely acknowledged Bryce – _his boyfriend !–_ after he pulled up in the parking lot at Ellie's.

Weren't there undercover protocols that dictated at least a handshake, or a kiss on the cheek? Or should he have helped Bryce with his duffle bag?

The picture of that in his head made Chuck turn to the window again. He really hoped Casey couldn't see his reflection, because the huge grin might make him reach over Morgan and strangle the Intersect.

"Oh, and hey, Bryce." Morgan tapped the back of his seat to get him to turn around. "Before I forget, I was glad to hear you're not dead." That ... didn't quite sound sincere, even from Morgan, but his best buddy had been the shoulder to cry on, so it was understandable to be conflicted.

"Thanks," Bryce said. He shot a meaningful look at Chuck.

"Maybe one night when we're sipping cocktails on the pool deck, you'll have to tell us about the Dalai Lama –" Morgan suddenly sat up taller and turned to Casey. "And the skydiving meet-cute? God, I wish I had that recorded, man. How cool!"

"Skydiving _meet-cute_," Bryce repeated, measuring each syllable. Both he and Casey glanced over at Chuck, one hiding his confusion while the other simply looked annoyed at the fact that obviously _someone_ had screwed up the cover story.

Chuck had to bite his lip to avoid reminding Casey there was no cover story. So what if he had to take things into his own hands?

"Hello, driver?" Morgan spoke into the device that looked like a cell phone from the 80s. "Is there any way we can bypass the peasants on the road in front of us? I have a ship waiting."

"Morgan, that's probably not necessary," Chuck said, signaling to put the phone down. "I think the driver can hear you without that. The retractable force field is currently in the upright position – and this isn't the Millennium Falcon, little buddy."

Casey groaned.

"Sorry." Morgan reached up and patted the driver on the shoulder. "Dude, I always wanted to do that." He went back to playing with the flip down drink tray. Up, down – back up -

A feral growl from one of the passengers in the back seat had Morgan jolting. When he appeased Casey by moving on to play with the sound system, Casey's fingers, drumming on his thigh, became a clenched fist. A fist that could stop Morgan's heart beating in about -

"Um, buddy." Chuck batted his hand. "You might want to find a station – and leave it there."

"Wow. Hear that? This is like, the greatest thing ever!" Morgan had found KROC on the dial, and apparently out of deference to his free rainbow cruise, he left it there. "Look at us! In the back of a limo, going on an adventure of a lifetime ... together ..."

Casey turned and shot a warning look over Morgan's head. _Shut him up or I will._

"Morgan, do you have your brochure?" Chuck asked. "I'd like to read through it ... in silence –"

"I mean, here we are, a bunch of guys ... still learning about our ... okay, maybe somewhat wobbly newfound relationship?" Morgan paused and raised a brow, eyes traveling from the back of Bryce's smooth hair to Casey. Or the back of Casey's head, since he was glaring out the window again. "Is that the word you would use, Chuck? Wobbly?"

"Morgan," Chuck said, stammering a little, "can you read about the spa?"

"But despite our little spat _we_ must've had last night," the bearded man went on, "we're ready to get on board and put those squabbles behind us. Have fun, get to know each other better ..." Morgan elbowed Casey in the ribs. "And let's not forget, finally embrace our sexuality."

"Is that our exit?" Chuck asked, leaning forward to the driver. "I think we can take a short cut though Torrance if we get off here."

Bryce swiveled in his seat. The innocent grin on his face – the kid remembered that one all too well – told Chuck he was willing to prod Morgan if it meant tormenting Casey. "You're gay?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, no." Morgan's face screwed up as he considered that. "But then we have my best buddy here," he continued, and this time he nudged Chuck in the ribs. "He's covering for us. Though ... I like to think of him more as the variable speed blender type?"

"Oh, God."

"Really," Bryce said, making Chuck hate him all over again.

"You know, puree?" Morgan waved a hand, and it came awfully close to Casey. "Or rough chop?"

The prospect of stuffing Morgan into a blender and liquefying seemed to be the only thing that caught Casey's attention. When Chuck dared to look over Morgan's head, he saw the squint of death pinned on his face.

"_I will kill him_," Casey mouthed. A second later he felt compelled to add, "Before_ Bryce."_

Chuck sat back in the seat to avoid his eyes. Why was the Human Intersect and civilian stuck playing referee? Weren't there trained spies in the car who should be able to handle the prospect of a little footsie next to the pool?

Dammit. Morgan was going to have this charade all figured out by the time they tipped the driver if the NSA and CIA didn't up their game.

"Okay, before we get there," Morgan said, and he tapped Casey's knee to get his attention, "I'm going to need a few ... pointers on the whole being gay thing. I mean, is there a secret handshake, or a code word? Something I should know before we board?"

"Looks like you're on to us," Bryce said, and with an exaggerated huff, he turned around in his seat. "Here. Hold out your hand."

"Really! I knew it, man!" Morgan reached over the seat and put his hand out. "Okay, hit me."

It took Chuck a second to put it together. His roommate always gave it away in his eyes, though. And right there, Chuck recognized that mischievous look from the time they encased Professor Blikstein's office in Saran Wrap after a particularly grueling final exam.

Bryce held out his hand in a way that looked like a modified gesture from an episode of Deep Space Nine. It at once irritated Chuck down to his scuffed Chucks to see Bryce so coolly deceiving his best friend. But Star Trek? Without a doubt, Morgan would pick up on that, wouldn't he?

"Turn your hand on the side. Yeah, like that."

It looked like the lure of free buffets for the next six days had taken Morgan off his game, because he went along with it. Chuck watched as his friend made a V between two fingers and slipped them between Bryce's. "Am I doing it right?" Morgan asked.

"Not bad," Bryce said, but he made it sound a bit dubious. "Casey's better at it than I am. You'll want to practice with him – a lot – until you get it right." When he pulled his hand away, he glanced over to his fake-yet-ready-to kill-him boyfriend and gave him a calm smile. "Isn't that right ... sweetie?"

The minute he heard the crackling of the leather armrest, Chuck had to wonder if the CIA would take care of the funeral arrangements the second time around. If Casey let them find a body. The amount of real estate between the Port of Los Angeles and Puerto Vallarta provided many dark deep places to dump a Bryce-sized corpse. He was sure Casey knew that.

"Hey, Casey – want to try –?"

"If you leave your hand there another second," Casey said, "I will break it."

"Oh, I see." Morgan quickly lowered his hand and turned his head to Chuck. "Troubles with the two lovebirds?" he mouthed.

"Just nerves?" Chuck whispered, feeling something in his midsection flutter. Hell yes, it was nerves!

"You know, maybe I'm not cool enough to be gay," Morgan whispered back at him.

"Cool?"

"You know, the whole ... well ..." Morgan waved a hand dejectedly. _"_Look at Bryce."

"I think ... that's a little stereotypical, little buddy."

Morgan frowned and tapped the back of Bryce's seat. "Oh – and one more question, Bryce. Will there be hats? I didn't bring a hat – unless you count the white captains' cap." Morgan shook his head and went back to playing with the flip tray. "God, I should've brought another hat."

-x-

"Twelve floors," Morgan said, and his eyebrows went up. "Did you see that, Chuck!" He nearly scampered out of the stainless steel and mirrored elevator onto the lush charcoal grey carpet of the wide hallway. "Look at his place! It puts the Pacific Princess to shame!"

As the four men piled out the elevator with their duffel bags, Casey grabbed Chuck by the shoulder and jerked him back. The kid saw that Casey's posture was mission-ready down to his his black polo and jeans, and vaguely, he wondered if Casey knew this was a cruise to Mexico and not Operation Desert Sabre.

"Control your boyfriend," he said in a tone that had Chuck's neck hairs standing up, "or he won't even make it to Cabo."

"Look at this! It's so ... chic! Isn't that the word you would use, Chuck? _Chic_?"

"I have to admit, it is nice," Chuck said, discreetly wrenching his shoulder free. The hallway to their stateroom was lit by chrome mesh sconces spaced, casting speckled light along the muted grey walls. "It looks ... expensive."

Casey had noticed as well, apparently, and had pulled up short at the finery. This was going to piss him off to no end, ruminating over the taxpayer's outlay.

Morgan reached under his Hawaiian shirt – Chuck kept his mouth closed about the shirt – and whipped out the ship's brochure. "Listen to this, guys," he said as he started to read from it. "There's a theatre that looks like a Paris Opera House. _Three _pools. Did you hear that, Chuck – _three_. Mr. Lucky's Casino. Oh. Do you think the radio station will spring for a hot stone massage?"

It was a good thing that Morgan had his nose in the brochure, Chuck thought, because at this juncture, he would be wondering what the hell was going on with Casey and Bryce.

He wanted to remind his handler that no – Bryce had _not_ been just released from a leper colony. Nor was he a liberal. But a person wouldn't know that by the way Casey was looking at him.

Chuck pushed a hand through his hair and rolled his eyes. There should be a damn code phrase for _pull your head out, spies! _

Frankly, this left him with no choice. Time to call for the big guns, Chuck thought. He reached into his pocket and slid out his iPhone.

_Help!_ he thumbed hurriedlyto Sarah._ Where are you?_

The return text was almost instantaneous.

_Deck 11. Did you flash? Is Casey with you?_

Chuck frowned at the screen. _Worse. Casey and Bryce are going to blow the entire mission!_

_What are they doing?_

_What are they not doing is the better question._

_? _was Sarah's reply.

Chuck sighed. _They haven't even spoken to each other. We're headed to our room, and they're walking ten feet apart. _

_No PDA?_

_Unless you count murderous looks and grunts?_

A longer interval passed, and then, _I'll take care of it._

"Okay, listen to this, man." Chuck startled. He had tuned out the last thirty seconds of the ship's features. "Horatio's Buffet is open twenty-four hours a day! And there's ... weight training, cardio," Morgan lowered his voice dully to skip over this part, "blah, blah, blah – oh. Here! There's an arcade-"

"Oh, hell." Casey pinched the bridge of his nose and walked faster.

Chuck pulled out his phone again and let them walk ahead.

_Whatever it is that you're going to do, please make it fast! Morgan is more observant than you guys know._

_I'm on it._

Chuck's lips bunched up. _What are you going to do?_

_Casey tried to requisition a rocket launcher for the new Vic. The bean counters back in DC put a halt on it. He asked me to back him up on this one._

_Or?_

_No rocket launchers for Vic._

_Remind me never to cross you, Agent Walker. What about Bryce?_

The answer was quick. _I have enough dirt on Bryce to get him fired ten times over_.

_Just hurry, okay?_

"This is the coolest, right here," Morgan was saying. "Chuck, are you listening?"

"My bad." Chuck slid his phone away and picked up the pace, though Casey was way out in the lead. Not surprisingly, it put as much distance between him and Bryce as possible. "What's the coolest?"

"There's a two story indoor nightclub called Frankenstein's Lab." He lowered his nose to read the fine print. "It's used for after hour and alternative parties. Hm – I wonder what that means."

"A little advice?" Bryce said, and when Chuck and Morgan gave him a confused look, he checked over his shoulder to make sure no one else was nearby. "You beginners probably want to stay clear of a place like that."

"Wait." Morgan held out a hand and came to an abrupt stop. A step behind him, Chuck had to come to a sliding halt in order to avoid a duffle bag collision. "Alternative?"

"Oh. Sorry." Bryce looked down and slipped his phone out of his pocket. "Someone's texting me."

Morgan's eyes went wide as Bryce stepped away. "Chuck, what do you think that means?"

"Oh, hey, Morgan." Chuck slapped a hand towards the brochure at the first thing he saw. "Classic Disco night ...?"

"Got it. No Frankenstein's Lab. Hey, forget that." Morgan held up the paper and gasped. "Wait. Look at this. Do you think Cher is on board?" He waved that off before Chuck could answer. "Hey - where are the fledgling valentines?"

"They're right ... here?" Chuck stopped walking and turned around at the same time Morgan swiveled to look back. "Casey?"

"Maybe they're texting each other with a make-up note?" Morgan whispered, seeing that both had stopped down the hallway and now had their noses turned down.

"While they're doing that," Chuck said, trying to put some distance between them and Casey, "let's see if we can find our cabin –"

"Oh fu-" he heard from his handler.

"Everything okay, guys?" Chuck asked.

The noise that came from Casey's throat was the one Chuck recognized as the signal for impending death. This time, he guessed it was for someone who had ridiculously perfect hair.

Chuck turned to his ex-roommate. With his schooled features intact, Bryce read the message one more time and slid the phone into his pocket. "Work." His smile was forced. "The concept of vacation doesn't have the same meaning to some people."

Casey was still glaring at his phone. His face had briefly hardened before he seemed to dig deep for calm. There was a giveaway, however. The muscles along his upper arms were threatening to burst through the sleeves. But eventually, and with a few more curses, he tucked his phone into his pocket.

"Bryce?" Casey said a little too sweetly.

"Yes?" Bryce clenched his jaw before adding, "Honey bear?"

"Why don't you let me give you a hand with your duffle bag," Casey suggested in a growl, and oh, yeah, it was killing him.

"That's okay." Bryce tightened his hold on the strap as Casey moved in closer. "I think I can handle it."

"I insist," Casey said, and without waiting for the argument, he took it from him with a jerk.

"_Things are looking up for Brasey, hm?_" Morgan whispered out the side of his mouth.

At that, the kid sent up a silent entreaty, praying Casey did not hear his name meshed into a doughy concoction with the man he hated more than Bin Laden and Bill Clinton combined.

He looked over in time to see that Bryce seemed to be pulling back on the strap, and hoped Morgan didn't notice that. But super sleuth or not, Bryce had no chance of out-muscling a pissed off John Casey. The NSA agent stripped the bag off of Bryce's shoulder and threw it over his own before the other man could back away.

"Thank you, _John_," Bryce said between his teeth.

"Guys?" Chuck had to fight to repress a smile as he saw them walking side by side. "I think we're almost there, aren't we, Morgan? You said you wanted to see our room?" Since of course, Casey wanted to plant bugs and surveillance before he left his asset alone to find his own room.

"Sure." Bryce gave Casey one more look, obviously offended by the fact the NSA agent had taken his bag instead of the other way around.

Seriously, Bryce? Have you seen your _boyfriend_?

The peeved expression on Bryce's face was nothing compared to how he looked a moment later when Casey took his hand, twining his fingers between his.

There might've been bone cracking involved.

Chuck coughed to hide his grin still threatening to break out over his face. Especially as Bryce winced.

"Coming down with something, buddy?" Morgan asked.

"No, no, no ... just a little something stuck there." Heh. The image would be forever burned in his mind, the glorious granddaddy of all future bargaining chips.

Not just his mind. Chuck dodged his hand behind his back and pressed share, sending the digital image whizzing through the ether, or at least to the blonde member of Team Bartowski.

_Mission accomplished - for now, Ms. Walker._

-x-

"Ow." Bryce Larkin breathed in sharply, and tried to unwind his hand from the iron grip. "Easy Casey," he whispered. "I'm losing feeling in my fingers."

Casey squeezed harder, because the intention was to pull them off.

Walker. _Puh_. Over the past few months, he had begrudgingly come to respect the CIA agent. Trust her instincts. Hell, he even secretly admired her roundhouse kick and her deadly aim.

On top of that, Casey had begun to think that the Intersect assignment was falling into place. LA had decent weather, and with the kid flashing every few days, Team Casey was able to clear out a backload of cases. The agency's secret holding tanks, specially crafted for traitorous, subversive scum was filling up fast, and it felt pretty damn good to be part of it.

Even the kid was getting slightly less agonizing to be around. His squeamish tendencies were just part of the Intersect package, Casey figured, and he had to adapt and get over it.

Until _this_.

The mission that made the caves of Afghanistan look like a debutante's cotillion.

Casey narrowed his eyes in disgust and shuddered as he thought where his hand was. It put all of that back to square one, CIA. There were lines in the sand, and then there were cement boundaries that should never be permeated. Having to bunk with Bryce Larkin was one of them. Holding hands with the weasely little prick while the Intersect tried to hide a smile was a new kind of hell entirely.

Someone was going to have to die. Lots of someones.

Starting with this one.

"Stop your squirming," Casey told him, ignoring the subdued protest as he hauled Bryce along. "The bearded troll won't buy into this if it looks like I'm dragging you. By the way, I will if I have to."

"Down this way!" Up ahead of them, Morgan's green tennis shoes skidded to a halt. "Look at this! We have a nameplate for our room! How cool is that!"

"Impressive," Chuck said. "It looks like we're staying in the -"

"Grand Vista Suite! Room 8268. That's us, buddy. Do you think it has portal windows? I love those things, man. Hey, Casey. Bryce. Are you going to catch up?"

"Walk faster, CIA," Casey said, getting close to dragging.

"Can you back off, Casey? You're going to break my fingers."

"Break them _off_," the NSA agent corrected with a smirk. He tugged until he and Bryce were clustered in front of the door while Morgan fumbled with the card key.

At the soft click to release the lock, Morgan pushed the door open and stood wide-eyed at the entrance. "Oh ... my ...God."

Casey had to grin. This could be the highlight of the trip. The moment Morgan realized that cruise ship cabins were not the roomiest. Shoebox-y, most of them.

"Going in," Casey grumbled, "or are we just going to admire your gerbil cage from the hallway?"

"Whoa, little buddy," Chuck said, already on Morgan's heels. "This is not what I ... envisioned."

Heh. Sounds like the kid was just as oblivious to the fact the quarters would be tight.

"Holy crap!" he heard Morgan blurt.

Casey cocked his head. That didn't sound like the bitter wash of disappointment he was counting on hearing from the gnome. Curious, he gave Bryce another good pull and followed Chuck to the entrance.

"This place _is_ ..." From inside, Morgan sucked in a breath. "_Incredible!_ A gift basket – it's almost as tall as I am! Look at that, Chuck. Hey! There's a card." He read from it. "KROC and the Boozler welcome you to the Miracle. Did you hear that, the _Miracle_. It is a miracle!"

Casey knew what the real miracle would be – if all four of them would be able to stand in the cabin without rubbing shoulders.

But as he stepped inside, he straightened. Because in the case of the Grand Suite – whatever the hell they called it – size was not going to be an issue.

Son of a bitch. It was huge. Outfitted like a room at the Seville.

"Wow." Bryce whistled between pursed lips. "Nice digs, guys."

"Nice?" Morgan pumped his fist in the air. "This place is a freaking palace! The carpet feels like walking on pillows! The bed looks like a – a fluffy cloud of soft serve ice cream!"

"Whoa," Chuck said, scanning the room just as wide-eyed as Morgan. "I didn't expect anything like this."

"A living room – we have a _couch_. A flat screen – oh, the Xbox will go right there."

"I wondered why your bag was so heavy," Chuck said.

"You brought the games and the controllers, right?"

Chuck patted his bag and grinned. "Got us covered, little buddy."

Casey released Bryce's sweaty hand and crossed around behind Chuck. "Your job, Intersect," he said roughly into Chuck's ear, "is to be out on that deck fraternizing with the passengers. Not being locked in your room with your boyfriend."

"Ow. It's about time," he heard Bryce mutter, stretching his fingers out. "Enough of the rough stuff."

"Do you have to be such a killjoy, Casey?" Chuck mumbled back at him as they watched Morgan pull out the Xbox. "I was hoping we could have a little bit of fun."

Casey grunted, and Chuck heard him murmur, "No fun until Larkin is dead."

"Don't you mean until Blosjo is apprehended?"

"That too. Keep your boyfriend busy for a few minutes," he told the kid in a low whisper. When Chuck just stared at him, Casey slapped him on the ass to get him moving. "I need to place a few bugs."

"And there goes all the fun," Chuck grumbled, but he did move his ass.

"We have a ... a balcony!" Forgetting the Xbox for a moment, Morgan ran to the glass door and pushed it open, stepping outside. "Our own lounge chairs – Chuck, get out here!"

Casey gave the kid another polite shove and began scoping out places for bugs, along with a few tiny CCVs. There looked to be plenty, considering the size of the suite. They had entered into a spacious industrial chic living room, and beyond the lounge was a master suite with a king sized bed draped in a plush down comforter.

Looking the place over, he took in the details of espresso-stained wood, mood lighting, and modern artwork. It was tasteful, and not at all like the flowered bedspreads with stains of unknown origin he had expected to find.

"Going to just stand there, Larkin?" Casey asked. "Make yourself useful for once and take a few of these before the troll gets back in here."

"If I can use my hand." Bryce gave him a dirty look, taking two of the bugs.

While the nerds babbled on about the view, Casey popped a few surveillance devices around the posh quarters. He adhered one on a light fixture above the sleek mini-kitchenette, another on the flat screen TV, and his proudest, a wide view lens that could catch anything happening on the balcony or the mammoth bed.

_Paybacks for that snap you took in the hallway would be a bitch, Bartowski._

"We're good." Casey made a final adjustment and moved over to the dresser. "Now we can play 'I spy the nerd' for the next six days."

"How has Chuck taken to being verbally abused by you every day?" Bryce asked.

"Pretty much the same way he's taken to you betraying him, giving him the Intersect, and ruining his life."

"That well, I see." At least he had the decency to look guilty for a moment. "Here they come."

"- and Fallout instead of Rock Band?" Morgan was saying.

"Well, we are on a cruise." Chuck smiled. "I thought the carrycase for the Fender controller might peg us as nerds too soon."

Casey looked them up and down and shook his head. "Too late."

Chuck and Morgan swiveled their faces to him, each with matching scowls.

"Don't listen to him," Morgan said. "Guys, you should see the view. Seriously, I feel like a king from up here. Oh, hey. The bathroom. Let's see if it meets our _standards _for ablution – Ah!" There was moment of pause. "You have got to see this!"

"What? Is it – huh." Chuck put his hand on the doorframe over Morgan's head and moved his attention left to right. "Wow. Standards met."

"You could play regulation ice hockey in here!" Morgan exclaimed, striding inside the bathroom. "If there was a zamboni, of course."

"Of course," Chuck agreed, still sounding awed.

"All right. Out of the way." Casey's curiosity had gotten the best of him, and now he had to see what all the gawping was about. And on the upside, he looked forward to dishing it back to Walker when he told her how cushy their rooms were. The agency would've wedged her in the staff quarters for the cover, no doubt.

The NSA agent poked his head in over Chuck's shoulder.

Holy hell.

He did not gape. Military officials did _not_ gape like idiots. Besides, he had seen nicer. Granted it would take a few minutes to figure out where that was. Crown Prince Nayef bin Abdulaziz's palace maybe, but only from what he could see through the duct work in the cooling system.

"Is that ... what kind of stone is that?" Morgan asked, running his hand reverently over one smooth wall.

"Travertine," Bryce said, which made all three turn with questioning looks. "Hey, what can I say? My folks used this stuff to pave the six bathrooms at the Martha Vineyard's cottage."

"Did it have a river rock wall like this, too?" Morgan leaned over the gigantic spa tub to touch it. He went still. "Am I having hot flashes, or is the rock wall heated?"

Chuck bent down to touch the floor. "Whoa. Feel that? Ellie said she always wanted heated floors."

Fine. Maybe it was nicer than the Prince's. But the geeks sure as hell didn't need to know that.

Morgan walked past the dual sink vanity, made up of miles of the same espresso wood and limestone, and stepped into the glass enclosed shower. "How many people could fit in here?" he wondered. "Two – three? Man, I've got an idea. Come on, Casey, let's see if you can fit in here with Chuck and I – hey! Where're you going?"

"Seen enough," Casey said. He grabbed his duffle where he had left it on the sofa and started to head for the door. Remembering that he had left one more cover item, he turned, and without looking, grabbed a startled Bryce Larkin by the wrist. "Let's go."

"Watch it!" Bryce hissed, lurching only once before he hustled along. "Is this the way it's going to be with you, Casey?"

"There they go," he heard the troll say. "Ready for a little make-up hanky panky after the tiff in the car. Hey! Wait a minute." There were troll footsteps behind him. "Can we come down and see your room – promise we won't stay."

"No," Casey answered and pulled the mumbling pretty boy along behind him.

Chuck should've known that growl specifically meant _stay the hell here_, but apparently it meant something else in nerd-ese. Because right before the elevator slid shut, the two of them slithered in.

"_I thought I said stay_," Casey rumbled close to Chuck's ear.

"_Morgan insisted,"_ the kid whispered back at him, and Casey caught a smile curving his lips.

He wondered if there were regulations against hanging the Human Intersect from the top of the three story water slide _by his toes_ for that.

"Where's our room, Bryce," Casey thought to ask, right as his finger hovered over the elevator's buttons.

"If you _let go if my hand_, John," Bryce said, pausing to glance over at Morgan, "I can get our itinerary from the outside pocket of my duffle."

"Outside pocket." Casey did let go, but only to swat Bryce's fingers out of the way, unzip the pocket, and get it out for himself. "Empress Deck? What the hell is the Empress Deck?"

"Maybe it's four." Chuck pointed at the nameplate next to the elevator button. "Looks like we're going down. Can you get the button, Morgan?"

"Ahoy."

-x-

"4215. Here we go," Bryce said, slinging his duffle off his shoulder.

Chuck stood back and let Casey swipe the card through the reader. While he waited, the kid looked down the hallway and gauged the distance to the elevator, because he knew he'd be stopping by often when Casey or Beckman beckoned with new Intel.

"Is it me," Morgan asked, "or is it darker down here?"

Casey rolled his eyes and gave the door a push.

It opened about eighteen inches before it thwacked against a hard object.

Chuck couldn't help it; he was jumpy ever since being quasi-kidnapped by Tommy, so he jolted. "What – what is that?"

"Hm. Well, smallest first, I guess. Step aside gentleman, I'll squirm in there." Morgan angled his shoulders and ducked under Casey's arm to get a look. "I know what it is. They left your gift basket too close to the door. You have to get it out the way if you want to – oh."

"Oh?" Chuck and Casey said together.

"It ... huh. _Interesting_." Morgan cleared his throat. "Um, it looks like the door might've accidently hit ... the bed." The little man stretched his neck. "Actually, it is the bed."

"What?" Bryce, standing with his arms folded, gave him a puzzled look. "It can't be."

"Okay, here's the plan." Morgan plastered on a brave smile and rocked back on his heels. "We're going to have to do this single file. I'll go in first, then Chuck – or wait. Does it make more sense for the largest one to go in first?" He nodded towards a black polo. "And then the rest of us move in an orderly fashion around him? Like the big rock in a jar surrounded by sand -?"

"Get your ass in gear," Casey ordered, pushing him a little too roughly, "and get in there!"

"Easy – easy – I'm just trying to set the expectations – whoa!" The rest of Morgan's objection became muffled from behind the door.

Chuck started to take offense with his handler, but there was no time to object, because Casey grabbed the nerd by the arm and stuffed him in next. "Ow!"

"Pretend you're in the trunk of a car," Casey advised.

"You could go easier on him," the kid said. "Not his fault your room is maybe just a wee bit tinier than – _oh_."

Another firm push sent Chuck careening into Morgan.

"Casey – um." Morgan hesitated, scratching his beard. "Those shoulders – no, not happening. You'll have to slide in sideways."

Casey gave Morgan a sour look, but he obeyed, yanking Bryce in after him.

It was then that Bryce froze. He seemed to be searching for the right word. "Holy ..." Secretly, it pleased Chuck to know that there was at least one thing in the universe that could stop the great Bryce Larkin dead in his tracks.

"Christ on a ..." Casey filled in for his fake boyfriend.

The two occupants of the room took a moment to scan their surroundings, taking inventory of the cabin's specifications. What little there was to scan, the kid meant.

Dumbstruck was the word Chuck decided on. Yep. Who knew that spies could be rendered dumbstruck in the perfectly aligned conditions?

"Is this a joke?" Bryce's duffle slid out of his hand and landed on the floor with a _thump_. "What ... how can that –"

"It's the bed, isn't it?" Morgan, standing closest to it, scrubbed his face and examined the sleeping arrangements. "You know, I was wondering that myself," he speculated. "It's not a twin, but yet ...it's not quite a full size either. I mean, they probably didn't specify on the website. Was there anything about the word _Twull?"_

"Morgan." Chuck shook his head and remembered to close his mouth. "Not now."

"Right," Morgan replied with a happy clap, putting an encouraging note in his tone. "Guys, it's not that bad, right? Besides, according to the brochure, you'll be spending all your time on deck together – volleyball, couples ballroom dancing- you won't ..." His voice trailed as he took a break to glance around. "Even need to be in here."

Chuck turned to Casey and Bryce, and felt ice forming in his stomach. What the hell. Why did both of the spies – spies who had to have been trained in adapting to a wide range of cover scenarios – pick now to seize up like an overheated hard drive?

"Hey ... don't you think it's kind of ... cozy?" Chuck pressed his lips together and flared his eyes wide at them, as in _say something!_

Next to him, Casey still had his jaw set like stone, and Chuck was fairly certain that was the sound of teeth grinding to powder. The NSA agent hadn't let go of his duffle yet either, as if considering the option of fleeing.

Bryce blinked and seemed to find his voice. "It's ... not that bad," he observed, and picking up his duffle, he put it on one side of the bed. "There's enough room to walk around it. I've seen cabins that are only the width of the mattress, guys."

The mention of said mattress made them all look down at the quilted, flowered bedspread that had to have come from a motel room. Bets were on the hourly kind.

Chuck surveyed the fake silky cover and repressed a shudder. "Casey, do you have anything to say?"

Casey shot him a look that should've fried the soles of his shoes. "God, I can't believe I left my black light at home," he muttered at last.

"Um, Bryce had a point." Morgan held out his hand between the bed and the wall. "There has to be a good two feet on either side of the bed. And look. You even have a closet."

The men turned in the direction of the corner. "Yeah. _Great_," Bryce said, shaking his head.

"Boy, you don't see these much anymore." Slipping around Bryce, Morgan tested the closet door a few times, hunching his shoulders at the loud squeak. "Sliding accordion doors? But if you think about it, it makes sense, right? How would a regular closet door open in a room this size, hm, John?"

Casey stared at him and tossed his duffel on the bed. At first, Chuck thought this was a signal of acquiescence to his sleeping quarters, but he saw it was only to let Casey free up his hands, permitting him to make two fists at his sides.

"Hey, take a look at that," Chuck said in a hurry. "There's a TV at least."

"I found the wet bar," Morgan horned in, his voice stifled since he was standing in the closet. "Oh, false alarm. Electrical panel. Good news, though. There is an iron. Casey, I know you like to keep your shirts pressed, and you can probably use the floor here for your ironing board."

The kid felt a hand on his arm. "Five seconds, and I begin plucking him," Casey said against Chuck's ear. "With my Bowie knife."

"Here's a question, though," Morgan said, closing the accordion door. "If they've converted the broom closet into this room, where do you think they keep the brooms on board?"

"You know, Morgan," and with some joggling, Chuck stepped around Casey, "maybe we should –"

"Just kidding." Morgan raised his chin and gave Bryce a playful elbow in the ribs. "Let's take a look at the bathroom, shall we? Hey, how bad can it be?"

"I hate you both so much right now," Casey remarked softly to Chuck.

"Can I just – uh, get around you?" Morgan and Bryce did the momentary awkward dance of which way to move until Morgan pointed to his left. "I'm going to slip by here, so you might want to ..."

Bryce leaned to the side. "By all means," he said, sounding testy.

When he saw Morgan was out of earshot, Casey took the opportunity to extricate himself from the spot at the end of the bed. He did this in order to sidle up to his asset, the kid realized too late, making Chuck back up until he was trapped in a space not bigger than a box.

With a very pissed off government agent.

"I'm torn, Bartowski." Casey said with cold speculation, and he pressed in closer. "Maybe an accident in the pool? Food poisoning at the midnight buffet? Or perhaps just the clean and easy drop from the _swanky_ balcony in your room?" He sounded intrigued by that last one. "So many possibilities to go elf hunting ..."

"Er, Morgan, really, I'm sure they want some time to –" The sound of the bathroom door hitting something hard made Chuck jump.

"Oh," he heard Morgan say.

"Everything okay in there, little buddy?"

Morgan poked his head out. "Dandy ... just ... dandy." For some reason, he gave Chuck an uneasy look and waved them back. "It's just that the layout is a little ... awkward, that's all.

Bryce readjusted his sunglasses on top of his head and stepped forward to get a look. "The only thing that matters now is the size of the tub, because if that's the bed, it looks like I'll be sleeping in here."

"Well, that would be a problem." Morgan gave him the _time to man-up_ head shake. "There's really no ... well, no tub in here."

"It can't be that bad," Bryce said, peering suspiciously past Morgan's shoulder. "How about ... _oh_."

"Watch your head," Morgan said.

"Oh ... _mother of all_ ..."

A second later, Bryce's curse was drowned out by the sound of Morgan testing the faucet. "Hey, what do you know? It works. And they said everything from the nineties was crap quality, hm?"

"How is this even possible?" Bryce asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Hang on." Morgan lifted his hands in a peacekeeping gesture and tipped his head towards Casey. "I think you need to talk to the m-a-n of the house if you're not satisfied with the room he booked for you."

Maybe it was the aura of the flickering fluorescent light, but Chuck swore the always cool and collected Bryce Larkin looked flustered for a second or two.

"That he ... booked for me?" Bryce's perfect nose wrinkled up at the thought. "So ... you think that when Casey and I are together, that he would be the one -"

"Um – hey, Chuck!" Morgan, with his back to the doorframe, wormed out of the way. "Why don't you two come and take a look?"

"No, that's ...okay."

"No, really. You have to see it. As far as bathrooms go, it's got some things in common with ... Jeff's."

"Jeff's?"

"Stall Three at the Buy More?"

"Oh, God."

"It's – what's the word? I think you could call it ... multifunctional."

Chuck and Casey exchanged a wary glance. When neither moved, Casey nudged him on the upper arm. "You first."

"Nice, Casey. Sending the asset into the cave?" Chuck said. "Why do I feel like a caged canary?"

"Smallest first. Isn't that the rule the moron came up with?"

Chuck sighed. "I guess." He started to move around Casey, but Casey had leaned in the same direction. Then they repeated the move in the other direction. "I was ... can I get around ..?"

"Here." Impatient with the dance moves, Casey took the kid by the biceps. "Just climb over the damn bed."

"You don't mind?"

Casey grimaced. "Do you think it can get any dirtier?"

"Point," Chuck said, and wasted no time getting his Chucks over the top of it. Landing on the other side, he stuck his head over Bryce's shoulder, eyes roaming over the bathroom his ex-roomie would be sharing with Casey.

"See? I was right." Morgan tested the towel hook, and tried to put it back when it fell off. "Multifunctional."

"Oh. Oh, my." Chuck almost let loose a bright smile, but remembered that would get him killed. "I ... see what all the hubbub is about."

He heard Casey come up behind him. "What the hell is the big deal?" Casey asked. "Do you think we can all get over staring at the john, and get outside by the pool and people watch?" Meaning, _you damn well better flash, Bartowski, and get us the hell out of here_. "Come on. Let's ... oh _son of a mother cracker _–"

The rest of the low flying profanities were lost when Morgan banged his head on the shower spigot. "Casey, you might want to sit while taking a shower," Morgan said, rubbing his crown. "Just to avoid injuries."

"Well, that actually looks doable." Chuck looked at the position of the shower head on the tiled wall, noticing that it was about a foot to the left over the toilet and about five feet up. Tilting his head at it, he then glanced over at Casey. "If you just lean over a little, you can kill two birds with one stone."

"Casey is the master at multitasking," Morgan announced, turning to Bryce. "You should see him at work. He's the kind of man that's going to take advantage of a four-by-four bathroom."

Chuck craned his neck for one last look. That was no joke. It really was about sixteen square feet of tan tiled opulence.

"Yeah, nice thinking," Casey said. "Always wanted a latrine where I could shit and shower at the same time."

"Shave too," Bryce added, pointing at the mirror on one wall.

Chuck and Morgan turned with raised brows.

Casey glared. "And if you decide to do any multitasking in there, Larkin – put a damn sock on the knob, eh?"

"Helpful, _John_," Chuck noted. He hoped Casey heard the _you can't say that to your potential life partner!_' warning in his voice. "Hey, Morgan, let's go ahead and –"

"Hum." Morgan glanced down. "Problem. You would think they would've designed a little flap to protect the –"

"You're not safe here anymore, Bartowski," Casey breathed against the back of his head.

"Okay, Morgan." Possibly because he wanted his friend to live, Chuck took Morgan's sleeve and gave him a pull. "Let's give the Romeos some time to enjoy their room while we -"

"Quickly hook up the Xbox?"

"That _right there_ is why you will always be my platonic boyfriend."

"Hang on." Morgan cupped his chin, deep in thought for a split second. "Lounge or bedroom? Both TVs are about the same size, but we can look out from our balcony if we set it up in the master suite."

"Probably not the best time to discuss you-know-what." Chuck turned to the spies. "Hey, guys, we're going back up to our room, so maybe we'll see you upstairs?"

"Oh, right." Morgan waggled his eyebrows. "And I know you have some making up to do, but try to make it a quick one. We have the mandatory safety drill in twenty minutes."

Casey hands formed a circle that looked to be the size of a small neck.

"We'll see you up there," Bryce said, moving in front of Casey.

"Hey, I just thought of something." As Morgan put his hand on the knob, he lit up at his apparent epiphany. "Coming out of this room is just like coming out of the closet. Get it, Casey?"

Uh-oh. That might just do it for the big guy.

Unfortunately, Chuck stood close enough to see Casey's knuckles turn white. He figured it was his duty to protect Morgan, since he was probably unaware he was taunting a man who trained Navy Seals in marksmanship.

"All righty, then," Chuck said, putting a hand on Morgan's shoulder to give him a tiny push out into the hall way. "We should go."

When the kid started to turn, something took his arm. Something like a vice. "Ow."

Ignoring that, Casey spun Chuck around. "Control your troll," he said evenly, "or there will be something that looked like an accident during the safety drill."

Chuck winced. "A crime completely untraceable, I suppose?"

"Heh."

"Coming, Chuck?" Morgan stood outside the doorway and waved a piece of paper in the air. "Our itinerary is packed to the gills, man! How awesome is that? Right after the drill, you and I have an honorary KROC champagne and skeet reception."

"Champagne?" Bryce repeated.

"Skeet?" Casey seemed to step forward.

"Yeah, as in ... you know ... the little clay disks that shoot out from the swinging arm thingy." Morgan made a sideways karate chop. "Like this?"

"I know what skeet is, your moron." Casey tried to look over his hand at the brochure. "So ... anyone can join in?"

"Uh, sorry, no." Not missing a beat, Morgan held up the dreaded glossy and gave a nervous laugh. "Only contest winners with the golden ticket -"

A gigantic _kaboosh_ made the rest unintelligible.

"What the hell was that?" Casey asked as everyone turned towards the gurgling noise.

Bryce walked over to the accordion door closet and peered inside. "It sounds like the ship's drainage pipe passes through the other side of this wall."

"Whoa. Incoming," Morgan said. He cleared his throat. "You know, we're just going to head back up to our room now. We'll meet you on deck."

Chuck finally let the grin he'd been holding back shine through. "See you in a few, guys."

He ran before the door closed.

The instant they had hurried away, Chuck towing Morgan by the arm, his friend looked up at him. "Dude, I don't know about this."

"Don't know?" Chuck slowed down. The wariness in Morgan's tone gave him a hitch in his chest. "I'm ... sure the skeet rifles aren't much different than the video game."

"Not that. I mean Casey and Bryce." Morgan shook his head, confirming the reason for Chuck's spurt of panic. "Did you see the way they looked at each other? Man, that is not love."

"Perhaps it's their way to show it?" Chuck brushed it off by shrugging, and didn't dare look at him. "Remember, Morgan, they've only been dating since ... October?" Just great. Yet another detail they hadn't discussed. "Uh, they're still getting to know each other."

"That's not what I meant!" Morgan twisted his head around towards their room. "Casey's eyes – did you see them? If they could shoot bullets – well, Bryce would have more holes than spaghetti-o's!"

Chuck swallowed. "I'm sure they just had ... a little quibble over something, you know? That happens all the time."

"But dude," Morgan kept whispering, "did you see the way Casey was looking at him?"

"With more than the usual abhorrence he reserves for everybody else?"

"Yes! That!" Morgan said, grabbing Chuck's arm. "I'm only saying this because you're my best friend, but did it ever occur to you that the man you chose for Santa to put under your tree – before he was cruelly swept up by your ex, I might add - is prone to crush his boyfriends - with his non-dominant thumb!"

"Or maybe it's as simple as someone forgetting an obscure anniversary," Chuck felt the need to point out. "Second month anniversary of the sky-diving event?"

"Hum." Morgan tapped his own cheek as he weighed the argument. "Though, I have to say, things are looking up for you, man. With Mr. Moussed Hair swept out of the way, you could have your shot with the big guy."

Chuck felt his cheeks flush as he glanced over his shoulder. Not knowing what else to do, he patted his shirt pocket. "I think ... I left my sunglasses. I'll be right back."

"But you –"

"I'll meet you at the elevator," Chuck said, waving a hand and not looking back. He ungracefully trotted down the hallway, trying to remember the room number. "God, what was it?"

As if by divine intervention, behind the wall to the right, he heard an incredible_ kaboosh. _

"Bingo." Pivoting around towards the gushing sound, Chuck knocked furiously on 4215. "Guys! Open up!"

"What the hell do you want," Casey said at the same time the door swung open. Immediately, the kid got the sense he had broken up a debate on who would be sleeping on the bathroom floor. His bet was with Bryce.

"What do _I want_?" Chuck's eyebrows went up. Darting a look down the hallway – yes, Morgan was a safe distance away - he pointed an accusatory finger at the so-called spies. "_You_," Chuck demanded, his voice breathless. "Both of you! Listen to me."

Casey folded his arms over his chest. "What."

"Morgan's getting suspicious, that's what!" Chuck raised a hand and hopelessly gestured at them. "_Try_ to look in love – or at least warmed up lust. Start showing a little affection! Just ... just don't look like you want to suffocate each other with the stained pillows!"

Casey and Bryce's eyes snapped down.

"Never mind that. Geez! You're going to blow the mission – and I'm not the one who should have to remind you!"

Whoa. Maybe it was a bad idea to raise his voice to two heavily-armed men with _those_ looks in their eyes. Because Casey's look could melt steel. Or Bryce, and given the choice, Chuck knew which one his handler would prefer to send into a molten pool.

"Let me get this straight, Bartowski." Casey stilled except for a twitch in his jaw. "Did you just order me ... to make-out with Bryce Larkin?"

Chuck wasn't stupid. There was only one right answer here.

"Gotta go." After all, he had delivered the message, and after they had time to stew, they'd know he was right. So the kid waved off any further convincing and did the one thing his survival instincts ordered him to do. He turned and hightailed it to the elevator as fast as his legs could take him.

Only to round the corner and stumble directly into Morgan's arms.

"Whoa. Chuck." Morgan held out his hands to steady the kid, his brow crinkling when he saw his friend was out of breath. "Is everything okay?"

"F-fine. Everything's fine – I was just ... looking for ..."

"Your sunglasses?"

"Yes! That's it."

"I was trying to tell you. Your sunglasses are in your shirt pocket."

Chuck squinted down at them, fascinated at the million and one ways he could be an idiot at the worst possible times. "Oh. Thanks."

"So, I have this weird feeling, man." Morgan pressed the button for the elevator and waited as the door slid shut. "What's up with Casey and Bryce?"

**x-End The Odd Quadruple Chapter Three-x-**

I'm sending lots of thanks around the horn. One to my beta reader, with a salute to her awesomeness at juggling cookie baking and reading, and two, to all of you good folks for out there for reading along.

I (again, and many times over) appreciate the comments, kudos, and encouragement. Up next, we actually get back to the mission, and *plot*. It was fun, though, wasn't it?

Til next time,

-skye

25


	4. Chapter 4

**The Odd Quadruple (Chapter Four)**

-x-

"Chuck, look around," Morgan whispered. "Nobody's wearing a blue sport coat – let alone a Captain Stubing hat!" He smoothed his lapel and swept a glance over the massive pool deck. "They're barely wearing anything!"

"Those are bathing suits, and we are on a cruise." Chuck tipped his sunglasses down and looked at him. "You did pack one, didn't you?"

"I did ..." Morgan confirmed, watching a small group of men calling out from the volleyball net, attempting to put a team together. "But look at these guys. They're just trying to make guys like us develop _unhealthy_ body issues. And you know what else? The concentration of skimpy fabric in one place is making me - okay, I'll admit it. Self-conscious."

"They're guys like us, Morgan. Look around."

Morgan considered it. "God, my clothes are all wrong."

"I admit you can take off the jacket," Chuck said, skimming the crowd and noticing a distinct lack of navy blazers. In fact, most of the passengers weren't even wearing shirts, let alone sportswear from a 70s sitcom.

Morgan hurriedly peeled off the navy sport coat and tossed it on a lounge chair. "Better?"

"And you might want to rethink the hat," Chuck answered.

"Are you serious?"

Chuck put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm afraid so."

"All right. For now." With some reluctance, Morgan slipped the hat off and ran a hand through his hair. "Have you seen Casey and Bryce? Maybe they really are making up?"

Chuck highly doubted it, but on the other hand, he hadn't heard any gunshots or missile fire from the Empress Deck. That had to be a good sign. Maybe things were turning around for the boys.

Nah.

The only way things would be looking up, according to John Casey, is if Bryce impaled himself on the low hanging shower spigot.

"Hey. There they are." Morgan stood on one of the lounge chairs and waved his arms to be seen over the throng of men. "Ahoy! Over here!"

Immediately, Casey looked the other way to disassociate himself from the waving man on a chair. He did, however, take a circuitous route to end up at the pair of lounge chairs next to Chuck and Morgan. Bryce followed a few steps behind, looking beach-y cool and casual with his Ray-Bans, his hair somehow staying in place despite the ocean breeze.

Chuck thought it was a bit unfair to appear that collected when your fake boyfriend had a history of shooting you and asking questions later.

"Nice evening out here, isn't it," the kid said, because someone had to say something to cover the awkward silence. "Did you guys get all settled?"

"Yeah." Casey rolled his eyes. "All cozy." He scanned the sun deck area and the sea of bodies standing nearly shoulder to shoulder. When he turned to Chuck and saw that he wasn't doing the same, Casey shot him an aggravated look. "_Intersect_."

"What?" Chuck mouthed, since he didn't think he had screwed up already.

"Flash," Casey mouthed back at him over Morgan's head. "Get your head in the game. Where is he? Blosjo's contact?"

Chuck lifted his shoulders. "No flashes," he whispered. "Sorry, okay?" Without letting on, he moved a prudent distance away from Casey because the NSA agent was obviously debating on how to get him to flash. Call it a hunch, but there was no doubt his methods would involve pain, embarrassment, or a blend of both.

Morgan turned towards the volleyball game. "A few of those guys look like body builders in their spare time, don't they, Casey? Hey. Is anyone else getting a flashback to a scene from Top Gun -"

Casey gave him a stink-eye, but it ended there when the ship's alarm sounded.

Chuck lurched at the blare of the horn. It couldn't be helped. His nerves were jangly at the prospect of Casey shooting someone to get out of the mission. He covered his gawky jolt by looking over the crowd, trying to see what caused the commotion.

"We've only been out of port for an hour," Chuck said. "It's a little too soon for an emergency, isn't it?"

"Didn't you read the itinerary?" Morgan asked.

The three men turned to him, two parts curious, one part angry.

Morgan pulled the itinerary out of his back pocket and waved it. "You didn't find it on your credenza next to the – oh." He looked at them and hid a polite behind his hand. "Never mind. I'll just read it off for you. The first activity on board is the muster drill."

"Yeah? Have fun with that," Casey said. "I'm going for a walk around the perimeter deck." He put a hand in the middle of Chuck's back and gave him a little push. "Come on, Bartowski, let's go. You probably need to stretch your legs."

"Hear that?" Morgan tipped his head as they listened to the the announcement, and then read from his itinerary, "Passengers must return to their rooms, retrieve their vests, and meet at their designated location." He stuffed the paper in his pocket and took Chuck by the arm. "Let's go."

Chuck caught the matching grimaces from Bryce and Casey as he was pulled away. "I guess we're going to our room."

"_Flash, Bartowski_," Casey mouthed. The steely glint in Casey's eyes said he was one hour into the mission and it was one hour too damn long. "_Or so help me, I'll beat Bryce with that safety vest. And make you watch._"

"Um, we should go." Backing away from him, Chuck took off after Morgan. "See you on deck."

Wherever Sarah was pouring drinks, he had to find her. Casey may be strong and have a jaw chiseled from marble, but the male half of his handler team was on the brink of losing it, probably for the first time in what had to be a perfect career until now. And Chuck didn't want to know what Major Casey would do once his thin veneer of restraint wore off, but he guessed it would involve stuffing Bryce and Morgan into a life raft – neither of them breathing any longer - and getting much rougher with him unless he flashed.

The manhandling was one thing – Chuck was getting used to it because he had no choice - but did Casey think he was a marionette, and with one pull of the string, the Intersect would jump and dance? Well, they all knew by now, it just didn't work that way.

There was time to think about that later. Now, apparently, Chuck would have to shuffle though the crowd and wonder why his ex-roommate had to throw a wrench into everything. It wasn't much, but Casey had started to settle down around him, or at least seemed to be treating him less like an asset and more like a person. Or rather, _before_ this little misadventure at high sea.

Thanks to Bryce Larkin, they were back to square one.

-x-

"Ahoy!" Morgan waved with enthusiasm when he spotted Bryce and Casey filing out onto the deck. Moving next to the railing, Chuck noticed that even in his belligerence, Casey had obediently donned a bright orange vest. "Over here!"

Bryce grinned as the spies strolled over. "Good eye, Morgan. How did you pick us out in a sea or orange?"

"I saw a few men get pushed out of the way – as if someone was plowing a road? – and what do you know, there was Casey."

Chuck turned to his handler. "Are you still mad about your room," he asked, and feeling braver, the kid then plastered on a smile just to vex him, "or do you really hate the hue of tangerine?"

Since Morgan was watching, Chuck received a grunt in reply to that.

The kid congratulated himself for getting in a small tease, since he owed Casey about a thousand more. But his overconfidence lasted only another two heartbeats – until a large hand took him firmly by the arm, and pulled him out of Morgan's earshot.

"Tell the moron to stop waving at us as if we know him," Casey ordered.

"But you do know him," Chuck said. "How can I tell him not to without making him suspicious?"

"Plan B, then. I drown him in the wading pool," Casey answered without batting an eye.

"Um, too many witnesses." Chuck gave Morgan a forced smile when he looked over at them. "Plus, I shouldn't have to point this out to you, but he is wearing a vest."

"Slice and dice the munchkin on a propeller?"

"Sounds messy?"

"Incinerate him in the boiler room?"

"Well," Chuck said, "I read in Morgan's brochure that the ship's engine room is off limits to passengers."

"Hey, Chuck, have you ever thought about that?" Morgan's voice sounded unnaturally loud, but he had a tendency to do that when he wanted his friend's attention.

Chuck looked away from Casey and tried to look casual by crossing his arms. "What? Sorry, Morgan, Casey was telling me about – some of the lesser known features of the ship."

"Really, like what?"

_Places to stash your lifeless corpse?_

Because at that moment, Casey took a long look over the deck, as if sizing up the depth of the wading pool.

"Is the muster drill over?" Chuck asked. "Why don't we take these vests off and cool down in the -"

"No can do, my friend," Morgan said. "Not until the crew walks through the decks to make sure no one skipped the safety lesson."

Bryce's bright orange puffy vest rose when he huffed. "See, I told you, John. You can't just hide in the bar and wait it out. Everybody's got to wear the vest."

"I'm glad someone else is questioning this, though" Morgan said, lifting his chin when it bumped against the thick padding. "I think they have it all wrong, don't you?"

"All wrong?" Chuck asked, wishing he wouldn't have opened his mouth.

"Yeah, you know. Running through the drill of loading the life boats. Dude, how many icebergs are we going to run into from LA to Puerto La Vallarta?"

"Bartowski," Casey growled into his ear, which was a challenge considering how high the vest rose. "Shut him up or I will hang him from the bow by the neck – with an _anchor_ for padding."

"No, think about it," Morgan continued, tapping Bryce on the front of his lifejacket. "If they were serious about preparing passengers for the threats on board, wouldn't we all get the tutorial on withstanding the effects of the Norovirus?"

"The ... what now?"

"Norovirus, man! Everybody knows that this ship can become a floating Poseidon Adventure with one freaking handshake! Oh, and not the tidal wave kind, unless you count what's happening in the lower extremities." He nodded and nudged Bryce in the gut. "Talk about everyman for himself, hm?"

"This probably is not the time, Morgan," Chuck cut in. "Maybe we should -"

"No, hear me out. If they really wanted the passengers to be ready, we'd all be wearing those little masks over our noses and mouths – like the North Koreans? – and given a care package of Lysol and Pepto."

Oh, no.

When Chuck felt the loose curls over his collar ruffling, he thought a warm ocean breeze had picked up. It took him a second or two to realize it was Casey. Even his breath seemed angry.

"Miniscule nerd," Casey growled without moving his lips. "Bludgeoned to death by free weights in the fitness center."

"Morgan would never go down there," Chuck whispered back at him.

"Or – here you go," Morgan went on, raising his voice. "I've got it. If the crew wants us ready for any disaster at sea, we should be unrolling sleeping bags on the decks."

Bryce had to be the one to ask. "Why sleeping bags?"

Morgan looked at him and sighed. "Okay, let me explain it to you. The second most common disaster onboard is a power outage."

"Doesn't sound like much of a disaster to me," Bryce said, taking a glimpse at the lifeboats.

"Doesn't sound like ..? Oh, boy." Morgan mumbled something about accountants being too sheltered from the dangers of life. "Are you kidding me? Think of it this way, Bryce. Without power, the cabins become unlivable sweltering shoe boxes. Without power, the toilets back up."

"Hey, I think the drill is over?" Chuck, sacrificing his body, made a human shield between Casey and Morgan. "Morgan, what's next on our itinerary?"

"Hang on, Chuck." Morgan held up a hand, never looking away from Bryce. "Without power, the ship begins to list, and those toilets back up and overflow into the rooms. Therefore," he concluded, stabbing a finger at Bryce's vest to pile on each point, "we sleep in a tent city on the tanning deck, scrounge for canned food, and use the back-up generator in the ATM machines to power our cell phones, while floating feces turns our vacation into a nightmare!"

Bryce stared without speaking before looking at Chuck.

Chuck licked his lips and blinked at Morgan.

Casey, however, saw that as the proverbial straw. As in last. "I think I've decided," he rumbled against Chuck's ear. "'Bearded geek found frozen in galley's freezer under fifty pounds of tonight's Lobster Newberg'."

"Morgan gets hives when he comes within a six feet limit of uncooked shell fi -" When the ship's horn sounded, Chuck let out a breath of relief and left it at that.

"All clear," Morgan said, unstrapping his vest. "Chuck, ready for our champagne and skeet reception? Heh. Still can't get used to saying those two things together."

"Right on it, buddy."

While Morgan worked on his vest, the kid tried to ignore the feel of Casey's eyes on his back. It only made him step to the side and work a little more hurriedly to unlatch the straps.

Until he felt a pull on one along his back that sent him nearly stumbling into the larger man's chest. Whoa. The man really was part rock. Chuck jumped when two arms came around him to steady him on his feet. His stomach swirled with confusing feelings when they didn't let go.

"Ah ... Casey, it doesn't work that way. If you're trying to help me take this –"

"I'm going to remind you one more time, Intersect," Casey muttered, using the grip on one of the straps to spin him around. "You are not here to drink champagne and ... shoot _skeet_ on the government's dime."

"Got it. No handouts from Uncle Sam for the Intersect," Chuck said.

In hindsight, Casey must've taken that as a smidgen of insubordination. Because before Chuck could touch the next latch, Casey fisted a handful of the orange puffy vest, and pulled him within an inch of his nose.

"Ow. And not nice."

"Listen to me, Bartowski." The intensity in his blue eyes made Chuck's head snap back. Or it was a huge finger coming up to tap his forehead. "You are here to flash. I want that thing going off like a display of damn Christmas lights at Walmart, you got that?"

"Flash at all costs or scary things happen," Chuck answered quickly. "Message received."

Despite Chuck's bolstering smile, the one that usually did the trick, it took a long time for Casey to sort out if that was yet more insubordination on the part of the Intersect. But slowly, bit by bit, he loosened each finger.

"Get this straight," Casey said. "I don't plan on spending one night in that ... _room_ with your dickhead roommate. So go find a damn bad guy, point like a good golden retriever, and get the hell out of the way so I can pull the trigger and _get out of here."_

Chuck forced himself to remain calm. "Yes... yes, sir." He withheld the salute before he fled. He was smart, after all, and that would just result in broken fingers.

-x-

"Pull!"

The familiar call, the one that put a twinge in Casey's heart, was followed by two quick shots. He watched as the clay pigeon, clipped on one edge, then shattered into pieces over the bow. The shots and subsequent hit were followed by some cheering. Worse, he had to sit back and observe while Chuck and the troll gave high fives to each other, and even Bryce looked miffed when they almost tipped over a flute of champagne.

That settled it. Even Prague had nothing on this mission. Getting caught in a weak moment and being cuffed to a bed while a red-headed she devil stole valuable Intel was one version of humiliation, but having to sit on the sidelines during a skeet shooting tournament while Morgan Grimes cleaned house was a whole other kind of Hell.

"Pull!"

The air was hammered by a few more shots. Decent ones, too, because the pigeon scattered before it flew out more than a dozen yards.

Casey swore under his breath, noticing it was the tiny moron who had clipped the clay that time. Morgan held a kiddie shotgun and did that idiotic fist pump, while the Intersect stood back, sipping from a glass and grinning at him.

Shit. Like the kid had forgotten why they were here in the first place!

The NSA agent folded his arms over his chest and scowled in their direction. Not that they could see him from behind the safety rope. _Behind_ it. When John Casey get relegated to standing on the other side of a tape? Not using his brawn to keep others behind it.

Next time, he would never ask himself how a mission could get worse.

Casey kept eyes on them while Morgan passed the gun to his partner, and had to squint to be sure it was the kid when the pigeon exploded. Who knew the skills developed during video games might transfer to something useful?

One of his eyebrows rose, and the thought that had been bugging him for two months now rose to his consciousness again.

Chuck. He _could_ be useful. With some work. A hell of a lot of it, but still, at some point, if the kid was stuck being the Intersect for the duration, it could be worthwhile to drag his ass to the shooting range and hone that a bit. Train him to defend himself, or at least pull the trigger for real if it came down to it. Even with that minimal preparation, Chuck could be an analyst for the agency, perhaps.

Then maybe he wouldn't be ordered to eliminate the little breech of national security when the 2.0 came online.

Casey's thoughts went silent in his head. He shouldn't take his mind to that dark place it wandered to at night, because no matter how hard he put up the iron front, he felt Chuck trying to chip away at it. And that was not the way this worked. When the order came down, he'd have to ... do the _job_. Chuck was a job.

_Keep repeating that, soldier. _

But it didn't make it better. It bothered him that he would be trusted to end Chuck. It bothered him more that he wasn't certain he'd be able to do it.

Even as he stared at the back of the kid's curly head, he had to wonder if – for the first time ever – he'd be able to put his finger on the bend of the trigger, and -

"Pull!"

The troll missed that time, and Casey smirked. Over the top of the small crowd, he saw Bartowski trade the flute of champagne for the shotgun and safety glasses again.

"So you hate them, too, right now?" Bryce asked, suddenly standing next to him.

Casey turned and felt his chest tense. "Guess the kid can have a decent time before we get to work," he said because it would be a cold day when he'd admit anything to Bryce.

"Rather unconventional event for a cruise like this one, don't you think? Though I have to admire the champagne selection. Even if it's from the back row."

Casey rubbed his chin and looked down at him. "What the hell," he said, "do you think you're doing?"

Bryce tipped his sunglasses to look up at him. "Protecting the cover. What are you doing?"

"Yeah?" Casey adjusted his stance, which meant he might've accidently hit Bryce on the shoulder and bumped him away. "One, I'm wondering why you're protecting the cover when the moron is over there drinking champagne. And two, I'm guessing you don't know about the small talk policy I've enforced."

"Such as?"

"I loathe it. Might want to keep that in mind."

"A little testy, aren't you, Casey?"

Casey withheld the urge to cuff him upside the head, but just barely. "I wasn't finished. Three, while I'm watching the asset not try to shoot his pecker off, I'm thinking of the two dozen ways I can dispose of your body when the mission is over." Casey glared and took a step to the side to put some space between them. "Want to engage in any more chit chat, Larkin, or are you done here for now?"

"I guess that should cover it," Bryce answered after a minute.

Casey kept his eyes straight ahead, watching the end of the event until he saw Chuck and Morgan wander past a few lounge chairs, exchanging high fives with the crowd.

Oh, hell. They didn't. Did they?

"There they are!" Morgan waved when he saw them. He led the way, cutting through a group of men drinking something that looked damn good _and needed_ right now. "Hey, guys! Look!" he said excitedly. "First prize! Holiday cheesecake! And a voucher for the bar! Casey, where are you going?"

-x-

"Scotch. The good stuff," Casey said, sliding into one of the barstools at the open air Tiki bar. "Make it a triple, no ice."

"Drinking alone tonight, sir? I don't see your partner with you."

Casey checked his watch and glanced up. "Glad to see the agency finally figured it out and made you a brunette," he said, giving the female bartender an appraising look as his eyes cut over her wig, black-rimmed glasses, and sunny smile. "Now maybe we won't have the asset chasing dark-haired tail all over Burbank."

"Tough day, hm." Sarah narrowed her eyes at him for a moment before reaching for the bottle. "Have you and Bryce flipped a coin to see who gets the shower first? And I forgot to mention to you that unless you roll him on his side, he snores like freight train."

"Thanks, Walker." Casey paused to watch her pour the shots. "I was debating between a few options, but that clears it right up. Death by suffocation with a pillow looks to be the way to go."

Sarah glanced past Casey's shoulder in Bryce's direction, and she didn't seem wholly offended by the suggestion. "He sleeps in the nude, too," she said.

"If he even thinks of climbing in that bed with less than full body armor ..." Casey took a long pull from the drink and set it down. "He'll lose more than those pretty looks of his."

"So Bryce is pretty?"

"Walker, when I look up, I don't want to see anything that even resembles levity with this version of Hades."

"He could sleep in the tub," Sarah offered, failing to repress her smile.

He was not taking the bait, but that confirmed she had set up surveillance in Chuck's room as well, and apparently the kid and his _boyfriend_ had been chatting about the lodgings.

So Casey grunted. Now that sociable greetings had been dispensed with, it was time to get down to business. "Blosjo?" he asked, raising the glass to his lips. "What's the status?"

"Checked in right before we launched."

"Alone?"

"No." Sarah looked out over the crowd, and when she reached for a bar towel tucked into her tiny apron, a grainy picture landed under Casey's drink. "This man was with him. They're sharing a room. A suite on the Verandah deck." When Casey just gave her the _I should know what deck that is_ look, she rolled her eyes and added, "Deck Seven. Almost directly below Chuck and Morgan. 7133. It's spacious. You'd enjoy the view from the balcony."

The kid must've blathered for quite some time about the shit hole he was stuck in for her to grin like that.

"What do we have on this guy," Casey asked, setting his drink down and squinting at the photo.

"Hey, is this seat taken, hun?"

Sarah Walker, always as graceful as a cat, damn near dropped a fifteen-year-old bottle of scotch. She was too busy beaming to care. As Casey blinked, first at her and then up at the young man in nothing but a skimpy bathing suit with an arm casually draped over the back of his barstool, he realized one thing. In his particular scenario, he was the _hun_ in question.

"I'm Raoul," the man said, holding out a hand. "Mind if I take this seat?"

Casey jerked at the touch of something along the back of his shirt. What. The. Hell. The Major _never_ did that.

When his fist tightened around the glass, Casey looked up to see Sarah shake her head in the way that said _behave and don't cause a scene_.

Yeah, Walker? He could behave when the cover required it.

"This seat?" Casey asked, and pivoting around, the NSA agent nodded down at the barstool next to him. "No, it's not." Lifting it up with one hand, he passed it to him. "Take it. Over there would be good."

Casey then pointed to the farthest end of the bar.

The man tipped his sunglasses down at him to see if he was serious. Whatever he saw in Casey's expression, he set down the barstool and skedaddled out of there.

"That was rude, Casey." Sarah slipped a coaster under his drink and grabbed the picture. "You could at least try to be friendly."

Casey scoffed and snagged the surveillance photo from her fingers. "I was still looking at Blosjo's boy toy – before we were interrupted."

"By someone who apparently finds tall, dark, and grumpy an appealing combination."

Casey shrugged and studied the man's face in the photo, but it didn't help that the image was blurry and only a profile shot. "Distracted by the scenery, CIA, when you took this shot?"

"As a matter of fact, I was standing on your balcony enjoying the view."

Casey glowered. "Chuck?"

"Nothing. I slipped it under his nose about an hour ago when he ordered a Red Bull." She shook her head. "No flash yet."

"So what you're saying is that we know exactly nothing about Blosjo's date."

She took the picture from Casey and stuffed it in her apron. "So far," she answered, and Casey caught her looking up to find Chuck in the crowd. "The surveillance photos I sent were run through the database. No hits."

"This guy didn't just come from nowhere. If he's here with that slick little prick, he's got to be on someone's radar."

"I'll get better photos tonight. Maybe we'll get a hit."

"Room surveillance?" If he knew Walker, she already had their suite under a blanket of bugs. "What do we have?"

"Cameras and audio in the living room, balcony ... the bedroom."

Casey set his glass down, noticing she had blushed, which drew a grunt from him. "Looking to get an eyeful of man on man, Walker?

"Funny, Casey. It's a job. Just like yours is a job, unless there's something to tell me?" Sarah left it at that for a moment in order to get a beer and make change for a customer. After the man walked away, she put her elbows on the bar and blew a breath. "And so far," she said, "it's been extremely boring."

"Boring? You could be sleeping with Larkin." Casey gritted his teeth and looked down at his drink. "God, this has to happen faster," he mumbled.

"I've never seen you quite this ... _upset_ during a mission, Casey," Sarah said. She was doing her best not to smile, but Casey could see the corner of her mouth slightly curling - and he damn well didn't appreciate it. "Is everything going okay? How are things with your ... boyfriend anyway?"

Casey pushed the glass closer to her. "Another one, Walker."

"That well?" Sarah hid her amusement by wiping out a glass. "I have to wonder what Morgan is thinking, don't you? Because every time you look at Bryce, it's not with that little bit of – oh, I don't know? Warmth in your eyes?"

Casey merely squinted up at her. His partner was enjoying this just a little too much, though in the back of his mind, he had to respect her for knowing exactly which hot button to push. That was normally his area of expertise.

"In fact," Sarah went on, still ignoring his empty glass, "it looks like your eyes are a laser scope, and you're lining up the headshot."

"I figured it's the safe bet," Casey said blandly because he wasn't about to show Walker that she could get under his skin. "The little ass hat has already proven shots to the chest don't cut it. Not going to take any chances this time."

"You know you can't kill him on this mission," she felt the need to point out.

"I appreciate it, Walker, that you specified _on this mission_. Means if I don't get the chance this time, it's still open season." He pushed his empty glass closer to her hand. "Though I do plan on taking the opportunity if it presents itself."

Sarah slapped his hand away and looked up. "Casey - oh. Incoming."

Casey didn't even bother to look past his shoulder. "God, I hope not."

"Hey, barkeep," he heard Chuck say, wandering up to the empty spot next to him. "Can I have another one of those pomegranate cosmos?" The kid leaned over the bar towards Sarah, and his voice went lower. "Is this one covered by the agency, too, or will I have to pay for it?"

"Too?" Casey sat up straighter in his seat and narrowed his eyes while Sarah took the nerd's empty glass. "Why the hell is he on his second one, and I can't get a refill, _barkeep_?"

"Well, let's put it this way," Sarah said, and she broke into a sarcastic smile. "Because he doesn't have two handguns, a flash bang, a Bowie knife, and a small canister of CS gas on his person." She paused to raise a brow at Casey and poured Chuck a fresh drink. "There you go."

"Sorry, Casey," Chuck said, taking the pink-colored concoction. "Thank you, bartender."

"Wait a damn minute." Casey shot an accusing look at Chuck and then turned his sneer across the bar top to his partner. "Did you forget something here, Walker? A little thing I like to refer to as _flashing_?"

Judging by the kid's reaction, it was safe to say he didn't expect to get his hair fisted right then, but Casey reached around him and grabbed a messy handful. "Hey!" Chuck blurted.

"This is the Intersect –" Casey said, ignoring the kid's squirming.

"Ow! Casey, really, do you have to –"

"-and he is supposed to be _flashing_." Casey gave Chuck's head a little shake to emphasize the point. "Not drinking cosmos, not shooting skeet, and not staying in suites that have scented soaps from France – _eh_ – or their own dedicated wait staff!"

"I – I think there's a little resentment there, big guy, and I – I said Ow!" Chuck tried to pull his head free until he found out that would only result in losing a few sacred tuffs. "Is this about the room? That's it, you're mad about the room?"

"Casey, the room is not his fault," Sarah said, and she removed his glass from the bar top. "With such short notice, there wasn't a choice. Beckman decided that it would be better for the contest's cover if Chuck and Morgan took the one that's a little nicer."

"A _little_ nicer?" Casey snorted in disbelief. "I've been stuck in a closet with Larkin. We're so close that if he burps, I'm going to taste it."

"If you keep jerking his head around like that, he won't be able to flash."

"And how about this?" Chuck said, going wide-eyed, "it hurts a little!"

"Casey." Sarah's voice held a good deal of threat. "Let him go."

"It's his job to flash." Casey gave her an aggrieved look anyway, and his bull-fisted grip stayed put. "That's why we're here."

"Guys." Chuck, trying not to move his neck, managed to raise his hand. "Just to let you know, I'm standing _right here_."

"Good point." Casey used a handful of curls to steer the kid around. "Bartowski," he said, his voice dropping to rock-bottom register. "Pull your head out and flash. I want to see it. Now." He waited two point five seconds. "I said _flash_."

"I was wrong a minute ago," Chuck said quickly, wincing. "It's you-know-who, isn't it? But I feel I should tell you that when Morgan asked about your tiff –"

"Morgan noticed?" Sarah asked, cutting him off. She glared at Casey. "What did he say?"

"Don't worry, I covered," Chuck replied, looking pained. "I told him Bryce was a little put out because he was expecting a trip to Barcelona to see the running of the bulls."

Casey eyed him. "So, in this scenario, Larkin is the whiny little princess _and_ the idiot?"

"Um, yes?"

"Hm."

With one last little desperate shake, Casey let go of his hold on the Intersect.

"Wow," Chuck grumbled, rubbing the back of his abused head. "You could just tone down the intensity about seven ticks on the dial, okay? It would still make you the scariest person I know."

"I see Casey's one of those people who gets a little antsy on board a ship," a too-chipper voice said from behind.

Casey felt his insides curl up like burnt leaves. Damn. He should be worried that he was beginning to recognize the scent of Larkin's cologne.

"I don't get antsy," Casey said without turning around. "And I don't need a psych eval from the CIA. My gray matter has always been exactly where it needs to be."

"One foot on the gas pedal, one finger on the trigger," Sarah explained dryly.

His short term boyfriend – because Casey felt a _hard_ break-up coming – chuckled and looked between Chuck and Sarah.

"Hey, barkeep, can I have another martini?" Bryce asked.

"Wonderful. _Two_ waters with a spritz of lime." Sarah placed one in front of Casey and the second in front of Bryce. "No charge."

"Forget that you're on duty, Larkin?" Casey asked, tilting an eyebrow at him. "Only those with computers stuck in their noggin get a second round."

"Just one of the many perks of this job," Chuck said, tipping his glass to take a quick swallow. "You know, I should talk to Beckman about health benefits. Or at least life insurance? Considering how many times I've almost lost mine?"

"Consider yourself lucky you're here to yammer about it." Casey swiveled in his seat to scan the pool. "Any sign of the troll?"

"My _best friend_ is still in the limbo contest." Chuck swirled the umbrella in his cosmo and took another sip. "Who knew he was so limber? I fell on my back three rounds ago."

"Huh." Casey finally turned to look at his cover lover. "Surprised you didn't win that contest, Larkin. As far as I know, you're part snake, aren't you?"

"Being enclosed in tight places really bothers you, doesn't it, Casey?"

"It's not that," Chuck noted, and he used his cocktail umbrella to point upward. "We're in international waters now. Casey gets the willies being anywhere that has the right to fly a pirate flag higher than Old Glory."

Casey hunched his shoulders and made a sound of warning in his chest. "Only thing worse would be looking up to see the _Tricolour_."

"I would've guessed the hammer and sickle," Chuck said.

"Guys! Guys!" Morgan's voice carried over the crowd, and Casey heard footsteps coming up behind them. He took a swig of water and had to shudder.

Sarah, despite being unrecognizable in her dark short wig and glasses, grabbed a tray and walked down to the other end of the bar to avoid seeing Morgan.

"I won! Wow! Who knew there were benefits of being this close to the ground? Look at this!" Morgan held up a bottle of amber liquor and read from the label. "Listen to this, man! Laproaig Islay Single Malt – hm. Eighteen years old." He turned to Casey. "Does this stuff go bad?"

Casey slanted a sideways look at him and growled.

"Oh." Morgan backed up a step, pulling Chuck with him. "Hey, buddy. Why don't we let them chat, and I'll show you the move that earned the bottle?"

As soon as they stepped away, Casey felt Bryce sidle up to him. "What the hell do you want?"

"Missed you, too, sweetie," Bryce said, sliding into the barstool next to him. "Listen. I've got another mission for you." He cast a glance over his shoulder. "If you're interested in a side wager."

"Side wager?" Casey asked, but since he couldn't push Bryce off the chair without Morgan noticing, he went along with it. He followed Bryce's eyes, watching the gnome and Chuck standing about ten feet away. "Does it involve me getting to shoot skeet – and you being the clay pigeon?"

"Glad your pristine sense of humor is still intact after three months in Burbank." Bryce took a swig of his drink. "I mean ... break them up."

Casey turned his expressionless stare on him. "Break up ... these two," he repeated, stopping to motion at the geeky life mates. "That's what you want to do?"

"Bryce." Sarah had returned when Morgan stepped away, and obviously she didn't like what she heard.

Casey lifted his hand and gave her a look that said he wanted to take point on this one. "This kid – your _ex_ - has that one thing going for him, and you want to take it away?"

"It would be just for the trip," Bryce countered, turning on a devious smile. "And they'll make up. Besides, this way, I could stay in the Grande Vista suite instead of the hamster cage. Without you, Casey. Isn't that what you want?"

"Except I didn't hear the part where the coast guard gives up on the search for your body."

"Can you be serious for once, Casey?"

Casey just looked at him, because he was being serious.

"So, does that mean you're in?" Bryce asked, extending a hand and waiting for the handshake.

Instead of answering, Casey took a drink and carefully set his glass down. No doubt, it would be a boon to rid himself of Bryce.

He turned to the CIA agent, and taking hold of his hand, he briefly shook it. Right before he crushed his fingers in a grip like vise.

"Hey – ow!" Bryce gasped.

It was confusing that it pissed him off this much, but God, this was the best the kid could do for an ex-college roommate _and lover?_

"You would get them to fight just to have more comfortable accommodations." Casey's brow furrowed into a scowl even scarier than the one he wore when Bryce walked into his apartment. Pushing back from the bar, he rose from the barstool, and there was no doubt it was to make Bryce look up at him. "Don't get me wrong," he said. "I like screwing with that kid's head as much as the next guy. In fact, when I can get him clawing the walls like an idiot, it's a banner day in my book."

"So, you're in?" Bryce asked, attempting to take his hand back.

Casey's grip on it tightened. "You want to know what else?" The NSA agent leaned in to loom over him, happy to see Bryce flinch. "That's what _I_ get to do. But you, Bryce? I think you screwed him over enough for this lifetime and the next ten."

"Ah! Let go of my -"

"And under my watch, you won't be doing it again. So go ahead and try. I'd like to see you fail." Giving one last squeeze that caused Bryce's eyes to tighten, and he tossed his hand back at him.

"Again," Casey added.

It pleased Casey to see that he had made a direct hit. Bryce's face darkened, telling him they both knew he was talking about whatever CIA buffoonery went down at the consulate dinner.

"Boys," Sarah said behind a tight smile, "may I remind you we are on a mission?"

Bryce shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Fine, Casey. You're out of the side bet. I'll play it my own way."

While Casey debated the potential damage to their cover if he punched him in the nose right now, he heard Sarah clear her throat.

It was a damn good thing for Larkin, too, because he was willing to live with the cover repercussions for just one solid shot.

"Stand down." Sarah's official CIA voice drifted in with a hint of warning. "Under different circumstances I would step out of the way, but I'm going to have to remind you that you cannot do that."

The two men stared at each other for ten excruciating seconds. Finally, Bryce looked over his shoulder and backed up a step. "Listen to your partner, Casey. Someone's got to keep their head in the game."

"And since your girlfriend is fighting your battles, it looks like you get to keep yours." Casey made a show of looking at the top of his head. "At least for a little longer."

"Funny, Casey," Bryce muttered.

The NSA agent was pleased to see him rubbing his neck as he turned his back to watch the moron reenact his backward fold.

"Here, Casey. I think you need this, after all." On the sly, Sarah poured him a single shot and went back to drying out wine glasses. Casey didn't like the way she was watching him, but it was just a second before she leaned over the bar and arched a brow at him.

"What is it, Walker," Casey said.

"You know, John, I have to say that I'm pleasantly surprised to hear you defend Chuck like that. It wouldn't hurt to say something when he can hear you. Let him know you're in his corner?"

Casey felt the words poke him in the eye. "Repeat any of this to Bartowski, Agent Walker, and next time I'll make sure it's your precious Porsche that dies in an untimely and grisly accident."

Sarah gave him a sour look and took a deep breath again.

He turned to watch the action, but when his eyes landed on Bryce, he reverted back to him. It was the look on his face. As he watched, Bryce's expression went from alert and observant to suddenly perplexed.

"Did I .. ?" Bryce looked down. He slipped his crushed fingers out of his pocket and now held something that obviously had him puzzled.

"What is that?" Casey asked, pulling him over to the bar and away from prying eyes. "What did you find?"

"I don't know." Bryce pushed it over the bar top so that Sarah could get a look as well. "It's a picture of some sort. Someone back in the crowd must've put it in my pocket."

"Who?" Casey slanted a look over the throng of men before turning back to Bryce. "Did you get a look at him?"

Bryce sighed. "It's not that easy, Casey."

Sarah shifted her gaze from the odd picture to her ex-partner. "Why not?"

"When I ... walked through the mob to get here," Bryce explained, his cheeks inexplicably turning red, "I got groped in the ... well, at least five times."

"_Groped_?"

"Only five times?" Sarah rolled her eyes.

Bryce's eyebrows drew close together. "Hell, maybe more. And frankly, I didn't look –it could've been any of those times."

"Nice bit of spy work there, CIA," Casey said, disgusted. "Obviously, not all of the _action_ back there was to cop a feel of your skinny ass. One of those times, it was to put that in your pocket."

"Wow, thanks, Casey." Bryce jerked his attention back to the gathering. "Glad you're here to tell me this."

Casey brushed him off by sliding the picture over the bar to get another look. "... the hell?"

Why would some perv put a picture of a caged monkey, caught in an eerie moment with its jaw wide and screeching, in Bryce's back pocket?

Damn peculiar. Looked like something Chuck would describe in a -

His agent senses prickled. When he glanced up at Walker, he saw that she was feeling the same whiff of tension.

"What do you think it is, Sarah?" Bryce asked.

"I don't know ... but I have a bad feeling about this." Sarah stayed quiet for a long time as she studied it, and then handed the picture to Casey. "I think you should show it to Chuck. In private."

-x-

"Well?" The boyishly handsome man turned to his companion as his associate took a seat on the barstool next to him. "I'm assuming you were successful."

The man looked over his shoulder to see if they were being watched. A cheerful waitress was taking a drink order from a couple on the other side of the bar, but it appeared the upper lounge overlooking the pool deck was a not popular hangout until the sun went down. The wide windows, however, gave a view of sparkling water below where throngs of men were swimming, flirting, and having an oblivious good time.

"Nothing," the man answered. "It's not Larkin. No flash."

The blond squinted down at the crowd and lifted his drink. "Keep looking," he said. He's here. I know it. Find him."

**-x-End The Odd Quadruple Chapter Four-x-**

A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you had a lovely holiday. Comments of any sort = author love.

-skye

20


	5. Chapter 5

**The Odd Quadruple**

**Chapter Five **

-x-

"God, I don't believe this." Since that didn't quite cut it, Casey tacked on a few of his favorite swears to drive the point home, adding a colorful string or two that could light up a Christmas tree. The one in Times Square, perhaps.

"Eloquent, too," Bryce said, lifting a brow as he patted down his pocket for their room key. "Boy, you're quite a catch, Casey. Lucky me."

"Open the door before I use you for a battering ram," Casey replied, because standing out in the dim hallway with Bryce searching for the entry card to _their_ cabin only reinforced the nightmare.

Never had he missed the caves of _Spin Ghar _quite so much. And tired or not, even thinking about this moment in the past hour made Horatio's shrimp scampi swim the tango in his gut.

"Sideways, Casey." Bryce slid the card key in and laid a hand on the door, pushing it until it whacked the bed. "It's the only way you'll fit."

Casey slanted a moody look at him. He really hoped there was no one else in the hallway hearing this shit, because did Larkin ever listen to himself?

"Then get out of the way." The larger man put a hand on the middle of Bryce's back and gave him a slight shove through the doorway. "The view doesn't get better from out here."

Bryce stumbled into the bed just as Casey flicked on the lights and shut the door behind them. "Thanks for the hand, Casey," Bryce muttered, "but I'm sure I could've found a way to get through the door without help."

"What are the morons up to now?" Casey nodded in the direction of the surveillance laptop. The only place in the room where he could set up the equipment was on a shelf next to the door. That in itself confirmed the worse; that it was the CIA which performed preliminary readiness activities on the quarters. The NSA would scoff at this set up.

"Still playing video games."

Casey shrugged and tossed his duffle on the floor to clear off the bed. "They'll keep it up for at least another hour. Chattering like a couple of girls sitting next to the cute boy ..."

"The mission getting to you, Casey?" Bryce unzipped his duffle and pulled out a leather toiletries kit. "You seem ... tense."

Instead of telling him to worry where he was going to sleep, Casey grunted.

"Who knew Morgan was so limber?" Bryce went on. "First place, huh?"

Casey didn't look up or answer. He spent his time ignoring Bryce by pawing around in his duffle for pajamas and a shaving kit.

"Though I have to give Morgan credit for picking out the best entertainment. The cabaret performance wasn't half bad, really."

"All right. That's it." Casey dropped his pajamas on the bed and folded his arms over his chest. "Do I need to reiterate the protocols, Larkin?"

"Protocols?"

Casey fixed his eyes resolutely on his soon to be ex-partner. "When we are out of the troll's line of sight, we will not – I repeat, _not_ – engage in any doings or discourse that could give one the impression we are together."

"Anything else, or does that about -"

"Yes." Casey jerked his hand in the air to count off a few points. "That includes any speaking, sounds, noises, or rhetoric that would make you think I can stand the sight of you."

"O-kay, then." Bryce frowned. "I thought that if we at least ... talked a bit, it might ease up the pressure between us. That it would be good for the cover?"

"That ... pressure between us?" Casey snorted and leaned over the bed, getting in his face. "Here's the way it's going to be. There is no amount of blubbering, drivel or twaddling that is going to put a dent in it. So your job is to monitor surveillance, try to act like a spy instead of a twit, and shut the hell up about cabaret shows. Got it?"

"So it _was_ a rough day." Bryce's voice dripped with fake concern. "You're pissed at Chuck. It's okay to admit it."

"No, I'm pissed at you for causing him not to flash at that picture."

"Me?" Bryce zipped up his bag a bit forcefully and set it on the floor. "How is this my fault?"

Casey glared at him. "Chuck usually goes off like a string of blinking lights when he sees a picture, that's how." He paused to stuff his bag in the scant space between the bed and the wall. "Usually, it works like this: the kid flashes, we chase bad guys, and I get to bring out my latest government play-toy of the high caliber variety for target practice – on criminals."

"I still don't get where I had anything to do with -"

"You being here is screwing him up, that's what." Casey raised his voice an octave to imitate the Intersect, though he knew Chuck wasn't quite a soprano. "'It felt like a flash but it wasn't a flash. It was more like the brink of a sneeze when you can't get it out'." Eyeing the punk, Casey then lowered his voice to his usual deathly rumble. "And now, we didn't get a flash out of him when he saw the picture that some groping bastard left in your pocket."

"Hey." Bryce put his hands up, palms flat. "I can't help it if I walked through a crowd and -"

"Your ass saw more action than the two of them," and Casey nodded brusquely at the laptop display, "have seen since puberty? Just perfect, CIA. Now we're left scratching ourselves – and asking who did it? What did the fake flash mean -"

"Strictly speaking, it wasn't fake," Bryce pointed out, and he sat on the bed to take off his shoes. "He tried. It just didn't happen. Chuck wouldn't fake anything."

Since Casey couldn't argue with that, he pulled on the edge of the blanket to let Bryce know to stay over there. "Just keep your eyes on the monitor and give Walker a call. See if she's found out where Blosjo is hanging out tonight."

"Should I put on the audio?"

Casey gave a quick look at the screen. At that very moment, and without taking their eyes from the enormous high definition TV in their room, the bearded troll was in the midst of giving a high five to the Intersect. "Only if you want me to shoot you," Casey groused.

"Having Morgan on board has actually been a boon to the mission," Bryce said, and he tipped his head towards the bathroom. "Do you mind if I ...? Not sure how this is supposed to work."

"Just get in there," Casey answered, trying to decide where he would keep his SIG while he slept. "How has the moron given us an advantage?"

"Have you seen his itinerary?" Bryce left the bathroom door open a crack to finish the conversation. "We covered half this ship tonight. The little guy has put together an agenda that would make the Queen on a state visit want to cower."

"Yeah?" Casey checked the safety on his spare handgun and slipped it into a side pocket of his duffle. "I'd rather be locked in a holding cell in Bahrain, strung up by my thumbs, than see that loud mouth redhead on stage again. Not to mention being stuck on this boat with twenty-one hundred drunken horny men."

"So you got a butt-groping too, I see," Bryce called from the bathroom. "Did you get the license plate number of the hit and run?"

Casey gritted his teeth. "Whoever he was, the little puke was damn lucky there was no way to ID the perp in the crowd. Next time, arms will be removed. The hard way."

"There's an easy way?"

"You about done in there?"

"Can't handle tight spaces _or_ a little mission frisking, Casey?" Bryce chuckled, perhaps thinking he could get away with it since, in principle, he was in another room. "Maybe tomorrow you can spend some time in the Serenity retreat -"

"_Eh_."

"What did Morgan say? 'Cool South Beach style vibe'? ... lounge chairs ... Or you could go to the spa if you can't take it -"

"I can take it," Casey said, pulling back the blanket.

"Good, because it could take a little time. It's not like we can put Chuck in front of all twenty-one hundred men and say, go at it. Flash."

Casey turned to stare, though unfortunately, it was only the door that got his look of disdain. "Larkin, do you ever play back the idiotic things that come out of your mouth?"

"You know what I mean. They did the right thing. Having Morgan here will ensure that we'll hit as many venues as humanly possible. Chuck will get a look at every man on board – and he'll flash."

"For the record, I could've lived without seeing drag karaoke." Casey lifted one hand and used his thumb and fingers to massage his temples. "Jesus. Good thing I never have to worry about my head space, because this mission could be the one that brings on PTSD."

"Never?" Bryce asked, and Casey could hear the smirk in his voice. "Not even Prague?"

"You plan on spending any more time in front of that bathroom mirror?" Casey asked, not gracing that with a further comment. There was no way in hell he was going to let Bryce yank his chain about Carina.

"Just about done."

Casey picked up his sleep shirt, and looking around the tiny room, he had to admit there was no way to avoid standing half naked in front of Larkin. He just had to get over it. So heaving a breath, Casey began stripping off his shirt.

"It's all yours," Bryce said. Walking back into the room, he halted in his tracks. "Glad to see that they outfitted Castle with a weight room."

"Say one more thing that indicates you just checked out my body," Casey said, "and I stuff yours down the drain pipe in the closet. Capiche?"

"Sorry, I was just ..." In the meantime, Bryce determined that Casey would kill him if he even thought of finishing that. Instead, he trailed off and focused on the laptop screen.

After a minute, he turned to Casey. "You like him, don't you?" Bryce asked.

"... the hell," Casey countered, shrugging on a t-shirt.

"No, you do." Bryce tilted his head at the surveillance feed on the screen. "Yeah, he's just a civilian, and worse than that, a nerd, right, Casey? But you admire him for tenacity, his smarts. The way he's adjusted to having his life trampled."

"Has he thanked you for that?"

Bryce studied his friend on the monitor, and suddenly he looked a lot less graceful than his usual self. "How is he doing?"

Casey checked the monitor and sat on the bed, muttering something about being reduced to a babysitter and bodyguard.

"I was hoping for a serious answer," Bryce said. "For once."

Maybe he shouldn't be surprised that the ex-best friend who got them into this mess was asking, and he decided he owed that to Chuck, at least, to let him know.

"The kid's adapting," Casey said, taking off his shoes. "He hasn't gone whining to the authorities or his sister. This whole op could be over by now, and he'd be in a bunker in Montana, forty feet under. Maybe he knows that. I think it makes him fly straight."

"You think they might still put him in a bunker," Bryce asked, watching his friend closely on the screen.

"Maybe," Casey said. "That might be his best option." Christ, Bryce had to know that. Even Beckman had more than hinted at the darker possibility to rid itself of the government's botch job that had stuffed state secrets in a nerd's head.

"I have a feeling you don't think so."

Casey felt the muscles on his neck tighten. "You're implying that I want to ... dispose of the problem and get out of Burbank."

"No, I'm not saying that, either." He was uncomfortable – and he should be, Casey knew, noticing the way Bryce slanted a look first at Chuck on the screen before meeting Casey's gaze. "You think the asset could be salvaged somehow. Maybe become a decent analyst for the company ... or that someone could find a way to get it out of his head."

Casey moved a shoulder and looked away. "I think that in any situation, all viable alternatives need to be fully vetted - before some bureaucrat in DC rubber stamps a solution that looks good on paper. Sometimes paper doesn't tell the whole story."

Giving a sidelong glance, Casey saw the other man repressing a smile. "It's okay if he got under your skin, Casey. He's likable, smart, and loyal to a fault."

"You're living proof of the last one."

"I just hope that when the time comes, there's another option."

Mindful that he was being observed by a highly trained CIA agent, Casey got busy folding his shirt and stuffing it away. "Working on it," was the only clue he was going to throw to that bonehead. "You should've thought of all of this before you sent it to him. Why did you anyway?"

"I had my reasons." Bryce leaned against the door, letting Casey get past him and into the bathroom. "Oh. Look. Only twelve-thirty and they're putting lights out for the night. Morgan must want to hit the waterslide early."

"Can't wait."

After getting by him, Casey tried to shut the bathroom door, but it hit resistance on the top of the jamb. Wouldn't it just figure that this stopped it from closing the entire way? Now he realized why Bryce had left it open a crack.

"I should tell you, there isn't much hot water," Bryce spoke from the bedroom.

"Great," Casey grumbled, and he put a little more force behind jiggling the door.

"That won't work, either" Bryce said. "I already tried that – and I think I just heard wood cracking, so you might want to lay off a little. The good news is the jiggling does work on the toilet handle, though."

"Oh, hell." Casey groaned and pulled out his toothbrush. No sense whining about it. If Bryce Larkin could handle a lack of privacy without belly-aching, then he'd be damned to say another word about it. "Try to get in touch with Walker if you're just sitting there."

While Casey ran the water and changed out of his jeans into his pajama bottoms, he heard bits and pieces of a low conversation. Nothing. Even Walker wasn't able to get a better surveillance pic of Blosjo's little bed warmer. It pissed him off that the two of them were so successful at blending into the crowd.

"I suppose you heard all of that?" Bryce asked after the call ended.

"The door's open, isn't it?" He scowled into the mirror and turned off the bathroom light. The bluish glow from the laptop's screen cast a faint beam over the small bed. Just another nuisance they would be stuck with – and frankly, it wasn't as if they were going to get much sleep anyway. Either the size of the bed or the douche he was sharing it with would be enough to keep him tossing all night long.

That reminded him of yet another pesky clean-up detail of the mission. The operational report was going to have to burn in purgatory before the boys in the agency saw it. Hell. He'd never be able to show his face with his old team again.

Casey grunted at the thought, and found himself strolling around to the left side of the bed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Bryce made a move in the same direction.

Casey took another step.

Larkin had the audacity to do the same.

Casey lifted a brow.

Bryce did as well.

Casey narrowed his eyes. It was a fierce, humming ten seconds before he took another dramatic stride to the left. Just the menace of the movement dared Bryce not to emulate it.

Not backing down, Bryce copied him.

This bit of shuffling had them standing toe to toe at the side of the bed.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Casey said. He folded his arms over his chest to let him know it wasn't this way.

"What does it look like?" In a pathetic attempt, Bryce tried to worm around him. "I'm going to my side of the bed.

"Think again." Casey moved his chest to block him, making Bryce stagger backwards. "So you're telling me you hang to the left, Larkin?"

"The way I hang is something you're never going to know, Casey, but ... yes, I can only sleep on the left hand side."

Casey nudged him with a forearm to protect his zone. "Five sleepless days and nights. Hope you can withstand the torture, CIA."

"The left Casey? Really? The next thing we know, you'll be buying only organic beets and rallying in support of health care reform. No pledge of allegiance for the kiddies to start the day, since you don't want to offend the atheists?"

"Bite your tongue, Larkin," Casey growled, shooting him a look that should've singed his hair. "Nothing wrong with snot-nosed kids starting the day by giving their allegiance to something bigger than them. Maybe it'll wash their brains of the liberal agenda on gun control – eh."

"Not a fan of tighter controls, I see." Bryce glanced one more time at the human roadblock, and gave a resigned huff. "Okay, just so I can end this little stand-off, I'm going to do you a favor, Casey. I'll let you take the left."

"_Let_." Casey scoffed. "The only favor I'll accept from you is _letting_ me watch you try to swim to shore. Oh, but Larkin? We're still a day away from entering shark-infested waters, so you have some time to test your buoyancy."

The burning stares went on for another few seconds, and it pleased Casey to no end when Bryce gave in first and finally looked away. While Casey climbed into bed on the left, Bryce rounded the bed to get to the right hand side.

That was when Bryce began pulling off his shirt. Then his khaki shorts.

Casey's head snapped up. His _shorts_? _Here_? "If you need to change into your pajamas, the bathroom's empty." The underlying threat was clear, meaning _get your ass in there_.

"I don't have pajamas," Bryce answered. "I'm sleeping in my boxer shorts."

"Boxer shorts?"

"Not everyone has a nice pair of Christmas lounge pants to sleep in, you know. Are those tiny snowflakes?"

"They're from my mother," Casey said, his voice firm. "You have a problem with that?"

"No, not at all." Bryce grinned. Turning his back to him, he started to shimmy his shorts past his hips. "I thought this was a compromise, Casey. Usually, I sleep in the nude."

"_Nude_?" Casey's eyes widened. Instincts made his leg shoot out from under the blanket like a bullwhip. His size thirteen and a half foot landed with a smack on Bryce's bottom before he could get the shorts any lower.

"Hey!" That was as far as Bryce got, because the hefty kick sent the CIA agent stumbling into the wall face first. Casey wasn't certain, but he might've left a dent where his shoulder hit. "Ouch! What the hell, Casey!" Bryce spun on his heel, rubbing his bicep. "What was that for?"

"Apparently, you haven't been briefed on the entirety of the protocols," Casey said.

"Here we go again."

"Damn straight." Casey sat up taller in the bed and raised a hand to count them off for the idiot. "Under no circumstances will a hairy hide or toe touch, sweep, skim, brush, or _so help me God_ rub up against any square inch of my body."

"Have you seen the size of the bed? That's going to be a bit of a challenge, John."

"And anything that does so much as pass over my body?" Casey reached under his pillow and pulled out a six inch Bowie knife, and expertly spun it between a few fingers. This was to let Bryce get a good look at the honed blade and the way it caught the light. "It gets removed."

Bryce's head jerked back, but the cool persona rose to the top again. "I guess I'll be heading to the twenty four hour gift shop to see if they sell pajamas," he said. "Just need to find my -"

"Here." Casey reached into his duffle, fished out his wallet, and flicked him a twenty. "Keep the change."

"Wow. Nice. I'll have to remember this as the first gift from my boyfriend. That and the aura of death threats, anyway."

"It could be without the threat part if you'd like." Casey fluffed the pillow and lay flat on his back, noticing the water stains on the low ceiling. "Keep the light off when you get back."

"Is John Casey sensitive to light when he's getting his beauty rest?"

"No," Casey said, pulling up the blanket around his shoulders. "The less I have to look at you, the better."

-x-

About twenty minutes later, he heard the click of the lock releasing, followed by the sound of Bryce slipping in and closing the door behind him.

A plastic bag crunched. Shoes kicked off. Clothes rustled. _Nice bit of reconnaissance work there, CIA,_ Casey thought, wondering if Bryce could be any noisier.

To be sure he had followed instructions, Casey rolled over and cracked an eye open. Bryce turned towards the bed right then, and Casey squinted, seeing that he did have a shirt and some type of lounge pants that he was wearing. He closed his eyes until his brain registered what he thought he saw.

No. Not possible.

Casey opened his eyes and leaned up on his elbows, staring at Bryce. "I have to assume, Larkin," he said, eyeing the shirt, "that it's not one of Santa's other eight tiny reindeer, and you went with Rudolph?"

"Did the red nose give it away, Casey?" Bryce said stiffly, looking down at Rudolph's visage festooned across the front of his shirt.

Casey grinned. "Slim pickings at the gift shop at one a.m.?"

"Try to withhold your glee." Bryce's forehead wrinkled as he pulled the blanket back. "I had a choice of this or the Cupid and Blitzen 'We're horny' t-shirt."

"Good choice," Casey said, not scooting over an inch to make room for the other man. "One more thing, Larkin. If I feel even fabric to fabric contact, I'm going to roll you up tight enough to sleep in the sink."

"Nice to know." Bryce climbed in, tried to take a little more blanket, and Casey was pleased that he lay there in a mummy-like position. Of course, he had to go ruin it by talking. "What if your foot hits me? Did you think about that? Am I allowed to actually touch your foot to move it away if it encroaches on my space?"

Casey settled his head into the pillow. "Only if you think my foot will look better shoved so far up your ass you'll have extra toes to coif your hair." He gave a disapproving squint at the top of Bryce's head. "Looks like a damn Dairy Queen cone. You got a problem with getting a good cut?"

Bryce's mouth opened, but whatever smart aleck remark he had ready to fly, he thought better of it. Maybe it was the realization that he was awfully close to a man who could snap his neck like a chicken bone. "Don't let the bed bugs bite," he said, "and I mean that literally."

-x-

John Casey considered himself locked and loaded for any circumstance subversives could throw at him.

Chemical weapons dealers? Just a bunch of pansies who never got hugged enough from their mothers.

Those who wished to see the American government crumble to its knees in the face of terrorist attacks? Heh. He had his very own special can of whoop ass stashed away for just those very moments.

But after one night of sharing a bed with Larkin, followed by a fun-filled day of being pulled around by Morgan Grimes, he had to wonder if any amount of training in the past twenty years could've prepared him for what was to come.

Approaching cautiously, Casey stopped in front of the door – Room 7 - and looked down the hallway to the left before squinting to the right. With the coast clear, he opened the door and peered inside. No threats, foreign or domestic, popped out at him, so with one more glance over his shoulder, he slid into the tiny room and closed the door behind him.

Casey frowned at the scent wafting from a row of vanilla candles on a small table. The music was unidentifiable, the kind meant to soothe jangled nerves – and he immediately disliked and distrusted it.

One thing he noticed right away was that it didn't exactly appear to be the torture chamber he had expected.

Except for that ... damn thing.

The only other object in the room, and indeed taking up nearly all the floor space, was a masseuse table. "Shit," he mumbled. Maybe this was a bad idea.

He turned around and saw a hook on the back of the door. Though he wasn't sold into the concept, he shrugged off his robe and hung it there, taking a second to adjust the towel slung low on his hips. And it was a damn skimpy towel, too.

Besides that, he noticed the tiny room was a bit too warm. Smelly. The girly kind of smell.

The nerds – and hell, Bryce - would think it's just peachy.

"Just get it the hell over with," he said under his breath, a combination of a growl and pep talk all in one. Casey took a pause, however, to groan as he thought about where his head had to go. Face first, looking through a blow hole at the floor.

"Gotta be kidding me," he went on, and climbing up on the table – _damn sparse towel! _- he laid down on his stomach, lowering his face until it was centered over the hole.

He breathed. So far, he had survived. But when he shifted to get a little more comfortable, Casey swore he felt a breeze back there. Great. More adjustments of the meager towel ensued until Casey thought he had all the pertinent areas covered.

Nothing like being almost naked on a bench with your bare ass up in the air to feel vulnerable. He wasn't accustomed to that feeling.

Dozens of pinpricks rippled across his back when he heard the door open and close softly. Footsteps approached the table.

Casey sighed, not bothering to look up. "What do you got, Walker? And for the love of God, it better be something good."

"Things not going well with the boyfriend?" she asked, sounding too damn pert.

"Eh."

"That well?"

A pair of white deck shoes came into view. He still didn't look up because he wasn't ready to see her mouth twitching into a smile. "Tell me there's something to go on here."

"Still nothing." Casey could hear the frustration in her voice, and sensed the mood pendulum swing back to Agent Walker mode. "The guy who is with Blosjo is a ghost. I'm beginning to think maybe he's not the one. We would have something on him."

"Does anyone in the CIA find it damn suspicious that we have zilch on the little bed warmer?" Casey, despite being surrounded by a blanket of calm filled with stinky-scented candles, let loose yet another string of low curses, throwing in a special one for Bryce, just for good measure.

Sarah arched a brow. "Tough day?"

"Tough _day_?" Casey said, his rancor bubbling up. "Want to know how I spent the day, Walker? _Couples yoga_ - with a man I'd rather bend like pretzel than get into a double down dog back bend!"

"Please tell me Chuck got pictures?"

Though Sarah couldn't see his face, Casey gave a dirty scowl to the floor, feeling his back muscles go rigid. "Then we went on to the Mad Hatter's ball – where I found out there's a hell of a difference between a t-dance and the Tea Party!"

"Wow, Casey. I've seen you pretty tense, but this has to be the worse."

"I. Don't. Get. _Tense_."

"I see that," she said.

"You forget something, Walker?" Casey lifted his head from the blow hole so that Sarah could see the sneer. "Need I remind you of the fact that I'm rooming with a man in a cabin smaller than this table? A man who spends more time on his hair in the morning than the Rockettes? And I mean the front line _combined_. Or the fact that he happens to be the ex-sleeping partner of _both_ of my current partners?"

"That doesn't bother you, does it? That you got left out somehow?" Sarah grinned down at him. No matter how many times he saw her in the brunette wig and dark glasses, he couldn't get used to it. "Well, until now at least," she added thoughtfully.

"Can it, Walker," Casey growled. "And then there's the troll to contend with."

"What did Morgan do?"

"Besides drag us to every venue on board all day?"

"At least you ended up at the spa." Sarah looked at his towel and cleared her throat. "And have you considered that Morgan's enthusiasm gave us what we needed? Chuck is out and about, waiting to flash on someone, isn't he?"

"Lot of good that did." Casey snorted. "He better get flashing, because if we are still here tonight –"

"Which is specifically a few hours from now," Sarah broke in, holding up her wristwatch in front of his face.

"- I cannot guarantee that twit ex-partner of yours will see sunrise tomorrow."

Sarah sighed, and her eyes cut over him. With some hesitation, she held up her hands. "Do you ... you know, want me to ..."

Casey gave her a confused look.

Sarah returned it by tipping her chin at him. "Don't worry, Major. I'm not coming on to you," she said, her eyes lit with humor at his reaction. "But as a _friend, _you're tense, and I've been told I have decent hands."

Casey narrowed his eyes at her. It was a given that she did have good hands – hell, he had seen her handle several knives and a gun all at once without breaking a sweat – but as a guideline, touching partners - or people in general - was not something he did.

Sarah was moving around to the side of the table, and it would be disconcerting to a lesser man that she had read his thoughts. "It's a massage table, Casey. Not a medieval torture chamber." There was a pump bottle of lotion on the table, and she squirted some into her palms. "I just thought you could use a little anti-Bryce relief. Nothing else."

Still, it took him a long time to stop staring at her and put his head back into the opening for his face. "Fine. Just watch what you do with the towel back there, eh? Barely covers a damn – _rrrh_."

Jesus. The blonde already had him melting like putty, digging into the muscles at his neck, down across the wide plane of his back, kneading, eliciting a grunt ...

"Like that?"

"Better when there's no talking."

She answered by giving him a firm stroke over his shoulders, a few sweeping circles in the small of his back. And finding a knot on one shoulder, she kept kneading that area ... until he groaned low in his chest -

"Ca - ah!" A voice came from the hallway the second the door popped open. "Oh ..."

"Chuck, what are you –"

"Bartowski." As Casey glimpsed over his back, he flicked an annoyed look at the white-robed nerd. "One, close your mouth. Two, get in here and shut the damn door!"

"Technically, that was three things," Chuck said, closing the door behind him and slumping against it.

"What do you want," Casey asked.

"I – um." Chuck's eyes wandered over them, and whatever he thought he saw, it made him freeze. Except that he was blinking. A lot. At them.

"Bartowski. Speak."

"Whoa. This mission just keeps getting weirder and weirder."

Sarah stilled in the midst of reaching for a towel. "Did you flash?"

"By the way, your mouth is still hanging open," Casey had to remind him.

Chuck swallowed hard. At least he did close his mouth, even it was only to nervously wet his lips. "Am I – Casey, are you ... and Sarah ...?"

"Hm?" Sarah's face screwed up in bafflement.

"Well." Chuck looked at one of his handlers, prone on the table, and then over to the other with her hands slick with oil. "Did I just enter an alternative universe on the other side of this door?"

Casey peeled his eyes away long enough to glare at Walker. "And you wonder why I have tension in my neck?"

"Chuck, you can have a turn next if you'd like," Sarah said casually.

"Next?" His back straightened against the door. "I – but this is -"

"Just hang your robe next to Casey's."

"My – what now?" Chuck's brows drew down as he caught the gist behind her mischievous grin. "Okay, I get it. Hah. Spy humor. Let's watch what happens when the Intersects twists in the wind for minute."

Sarah laughed as she came to his rescue. Her demeanor went straight to Placating Cop. "I was just briefing Casey on the situation ... and he looked like his muscles were going to pop through his skin, so I decided to see if he'd like a massage."

The kid blushed deeply, fumbling with the tie of his fluffy robe. "Wait – Casey let you touch him?"

"Only to attempt to work out the urge to kill Bryce," Sarah explained.

"Did it work?"

"Hell, no," Casey answered before Sarah could. "I'd need an IV of Kentucky Bourbon to go with it."

"That's ... quite a massage – and a briefing." Chuck took a tentative step, moving closer to the table. "You would think that being the titled member of Team Bartowski _and_ the Human Intersect would mean something, though. That maybe I'd be part of our little threesome when it came to spy meetings?"

Sarah made a noise somewhere between surprise and a laugh.

Casey pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sit down, Bartowski, before you say something that makes all of us want to poke our ears out."

Chuck looked side to side and saw that the only place to sit was on the table. "I ... um, can you move your legs, Casey?"

"Eh?" Casey gave him a look. "Oh, hell."

"You told him to sit," Sarah prompted him. Her smirk became sunny. "You always complain he doesn't follow orders, and then when he tries to -"

"Fine. Sit down." Casey begrudgingly moved his legs to make room for the kid. The adjustment reminded him that at some point, he had to get rid of this damn washcloth-sized towel. "Talk. Where are the twit and the troll?"

"Morgan's getting a sea foam body wrap and Bryce is getting a blue gel facial."

That was going to take some brain bleach. "Figures," Casey finally muttered.

"Hang on a second." Sarah's eyes drifted down to Chuck's knee, and then lower to his hairy calf. "Were you limping when you got up on the table?"

"I ... it's nothing," Chuck said, waving off Sarah's look of concern. "I'll be fine."

"What happened?" Carefully, she touched his knee and lifted his leg. "Does this hurt?"

"Ah! Easy, there. It's just a little sore."

Sarah arched a brow at that and crossed her arms over her tank top. "Is there a reason?"

"Bryce."

"Again, it figures that little numb nuts would have something to do with this."

"I'll handle it." Sarah lifted her head and focused on Chuck. "Bryce?"

Chuck held up his hands for patience. "He thought it would be a good idea – and I don't know what got into him – but he wanted to ditch Morgan for a while and show me the ... well, the rock climbing wall?"

"You hate heights," Sarah said, eyes widening.

"Not only that," Casey added on, "you're clumsy enough to fall off a step stool – and here's one for you, Bartowski. You're the _only_ Intersect. We don't need you landing on your noggin from forty feet up and having it spill out of your ears."

"Um, thanks for your concern, but it was only thirty – tops," Chuck said in his defense. "I was fine until we started down –"

"How on earth did you get up there in the first place?"

"- and one of the harnesses got wedged – well, let's just say it wasn't made for someone over six feet tall and leave it at that." He turned to Casey. "I'd stay off the wall if I were you."

Sarah gave Casey an inscrutable look, only her eyes giving away her displeasure. Casey figured that somehow she had heard Bryce's little pledge to get better sleeping arrangements. Even if it meant coming between the kid and his life mate, or trying to spark up anything Chuck had obviously left behind.

When Sarah turned her back to Chuck, she looked like she wanted to crash though the wall and suffocate Bryce with a wad of blue gel. That was confirmed when she mouthed to Casey, "I'm going to kill him first."

For a second, Casey was going to offer that they could flip for it, but he had to stop and fight a grin. Walker may be his first female partner, and he was still trying to get used to having a woman around, but he had to respect her when she had that look of hard contact in her eyes.

Casey thought twice about trying to sit up, so he craned his neck to look back at the kid. "Why did you come barging in here squealing, anyway?"

Chuck blinked as if the past few minutes had wiped the thought from his memory. When it hit him, he seemed to brace himself. "I think I know what they meant by the picture," he said. "They're looking for the Intersect. And ... I'm guessing that they think its Bryce."

"Who's _they_ ?" Casey and Sarah asked together, one sounding more pissed than the other.

"Wait a minute." Sarah stepped straight in front of Chuck where he sat on the table, because they both knew the kid could go off cockeyed and babbling without the direct approach. "You said the picture didn't mean anything. So you did flash?"

"No. It ... it wasn't a flash ... not entirely." Chuck cringed at how that sounded. "I told you last night that it was like a -"

"Damn sneeze that didn't come," Casey finished for him. "Yeah, we heard it. Don't want to again. What does this have to do with Bryce being the Intersect?"

"Easy, Casey." Chuck pulled the robe tighter around his chest. "I'm getting there. It wasn't like any other flash. I – I think it was a test of some sort – I don't know! - there's no _data_ – no pictures – nothing. Just the ... somewhat embarrassing physical reaction."

"Heh. Glad I'm not the only one who thinks it looks like a –"

"Casey," Sarah interrupted. "If you even think of finishing that, I will take your tiny towel."

Casey paused, halfway to grabbing one corner to make sure she didn't. "Is this getting somewhere, Bartowski?"

"Patience ... breathe, big guy," Chuck said, shoving a hand through his hair. "I'm saying that besides our little hair mogul with an interesting hobby, we may have a bigger problem now."

"Someone who thinks the Intersect is on board," Sarah said.

"Why else would they put that in Bryce's pocket?" Chuck began to fiddle with the terry cloth belt again, obviously knowing this was going to lead to trouble. "Someone wanted to see if he would flash, but managed to suppress the data feed. And that same someone knew the picture is in the Intersect."

Sarah turned to Casey. "Do you think they might've noticed that we pulled Chuck aside -"

"It was in the back of the men's room," Casey said, fixing the towel so that he could finally sit up. "No one was there."

"Can we take the chance?" Sarah bit on her bottom lip and left it at that, since they both damn well knew the answer.

"What?" Chuck asked, looking from one handler to the other. "What are you thinking?"

Casey ignored him and held out his hand. "Robe, Walker?"

"Airlift or Patrol boat," she asked, handing the robe to Casey.

Casey started to get up, but paused to put his finger in the air and make a circle at them. "This towel shows more than it covers, kids."

"Oh." Chuck's eyes roamed down to the skimpy terry cloth, quickly back up, and then he shifted on the table to look the other way. "Say when."

Sarah rolled her eyes and faced the wall. "The airlift would be faster – we could probably get airborne support within the hour – but it will be the most conspicuous."

"When," Casey grumbled as he tied the robe.

Sarah pivoted around, wiping her hands on a towel. "Even if we wait until after nightfall, it's not as if a military helicopter with Rangers zip lining in would go unnoticed."

Chuck tipped his head at his handlers. "Um, can I ask a question?"

"Army. Humph. Might as well call in a barnyard of turkeys for all the noise they would make."

"But the extraction route by sea wouldn't be completely unnoticeable, either," Sarah said.

"Hang – hang on a minute." Seeing that he was being ignored, Chuck then cleared his throat. "Are you -"

"Point," Casey conceded to Sarah, though he always preferred an air strike. "I'll contact Beckman. The nearest patrol boat should be at port in Mazatlan, which gets us a 19:00 arrival -"

"Wait!" Chuck slid off the table to stand up and raised his hand in a stop sign gesture. "Are you guys talking about ... _me_?"

"Sit down," Casey told him. "This doesn't concern you."

"One of us will have to go with him," Sarah said, "and the other will have to stay back - though it will be almost impossible to identify Blosjo's contact or the persons looking for the Intersect without -"

"This is about me!" Chuck's brows disappeared under his wavy curls. "I – don't believe this!"

"Keep your voice down," Casey ordered. "We're not going the zip line retrieval route by chopper, so you have nothing to worry about."

Chuck gaped. "Are you _serious_? You're talking about taking me out of here? We can't do that!"

"Chuck, it's for your own safety," Sarah explained. "If someone knows who you are -"

"No."

"Did you say no?" Casey asked.

When both Sarah and Casey narrowed their eyes at him, Chuck wisely backed up a step. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Chuck," Sarah began.

"I said _no_." The kid crossed his arms over his spa robe and stood straighter. Not exactly the picture of confidence, Casey thought, but it was hard to look bad ass wearing a fluffy robe. "I have the two best spies in the agencies – well, maybe three if you count Bryce -"

"We don't," Casey said flatly.

"- on board to protect me, and I'm not leaving."

"You're talking like you have a choice in the matter," Casey warned him in a low rumble, and he climbed off the table, crossing his arms in exactly the same way.

Realization that he had just challenged two people who could hog tie him with a robe belt had the kid backing up another step. He did, however, hang on to that stubborn set of his chin.

"Listen, guys. I know that if you decide that I have to leave here by storage container, I ... probably don't have a choice."

"Probably?" Since that sure as hell sounded like defiance, Casey used that extra inch to loom over the kid. "What would you say your odds are, Bartowski, if you fight us on this? Nada or zilch?"

"Boys." Sarah took the horn rimmed glasses off, making both men look over at her. "There's a person on board trying to determine Chuck's identity, and apparently, they got awfully close. Maybe we should be trying to figure out who it is, instead of playing testosterone bingo?"

"Like that would be a contest? Heh."

Chuck's face darkened at the insult, but he quickly schooled his features, knowing that an argument would only get him on a boat a little faster than planned.

"Answer this for me," Chuck said. "I am part of this team, aren't I?"

Casey and Sarah exchanged a wary glance, since it was obvious where he was going with this. "Chuck," Sarah began, "there are times when we have to -"

"Yes or no, guys." Chuck looked between them and leaned his back against the door. "That's all I'm asking."

Casey rolled his eyes.

Sarah slanted a look at the NSA agent and waited.

"Okay, fine," Casey said, shaking his head. "Yes. You are a member of the team. Happy now?"

"Not quite," Chuck answered. "But since I'm a member of Team Bartowski, I think you need to hear me out." He paused for a second, obstinance spreading over his face. "We're on a ship – there are only so many places to hide. And frankly, you don't have a chance catching Blosjo's contact without me."

"There are risks we have to avoid sometimes," Sarah said, her voice even. "I know you don't always agree, but -"

"Well, here are two risks I don't want to live with." Chuck lowered his hands together and pulled on one of his fingers, that nervous gesture Casey had witnessed way too many times. "First, I don't want to carry the guilt of causing a catastrophe on humanity because I was afraid of the big bad wolf. We can ... run everyone on board through the CIA database if we have to, Sarah. Come on. Anything else but giving up, okay?"

"It wouldn't be your fault," Sarah said, though it was obvious the kid didn't see it that way.

"And second ... just as important to me ... what about Morgan?" Chuck nodded towards the wall that separated the rooms. "I can't just disappear from the cruise." His nerves jittering at this line of thought, he began to pace between the door and the end of the table. "Or worse, if he saw the retrieval team or the patrol ship or – _come on_. We all know that means bunker time for the Intersect and possibly witness protection for Morgan."

"We'll think of something." Frowning, Sarah leaned against the massage table, hands propped on each side of her, and Casey could almost see her choosing the right _soft_ words in her brain. "But in the meantime, we can't anticipate what the General -"

"Walker, here's my version." Casey, finding that the time it took to choose the right words was usually a waste, took the more direct route. "If we don't find the person who put that note in Bryce's pocket," he said point blank, "Beckman won't take a chance."

Chuck's color drained from his face, turning him as white as the robe. "What ... what are you saying?"

"I'm saying it'll be bye-bye bunker time no matter what."

"Wow, Casey," Sarah said, turning on him. "Too bad that career as a psychotherapist didn't work out for you."

Casey shrugged.

"Yeah, really," Chuck managed, as the real possibility of it made his voice wobble. "I appreciate such an articulate – yet horrifying – clarification." He stopped pacing and swiveled around to face them. There was fear there, Casey could see, but something else that looked an awful lot like determination, too. Like the kid was manning up some. "That seals it then. I have to stay to find both of them – Blosjo's contact _and_ the person looking for the Intersect."

With the brave front, the open-eyed expression, they could almost forget, for once, that he was just an asset. A helpless nerd. Further, a tool to get the job done.

But even with the resolve in his dark eyes, Casey and Sarah shared a look, not quite sold on the idea.

"Listen to me." Chuck looked at one and then the other before pasting on a bolstering grin. "Between the three kick ass spies I have watching my back – well, nothing can go wrong, okay?"

Casey turned to Sarah and squinted at her. She had to be thinking the same thing he was about to mention.

"Shit," the NSA agent mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I wish Bartowski wouldn't have said that."

**-x-End The Odd Quadruple Chapter Five-x-**

Huge thanks and many wishes of a Happy New Year to all that have made it to the halfway point. Up next? A bit more discomfort for Bryce and his fake lover ;) and the mission begins to heat up. Comments of any sort = love and are much appreciated.

Til next time,

- skye

22


	6. Chapter 6

**The Odd Quadruple**

**Chapter Six**

Chuck quietly closed the door behind him, a little shamefaced at the weak excuse he had to make to leave the Grande Vista Suite without Morgan. Informing his best friend that he had spied the perfect Christmas gift for Devon in one of the clothing shops – really, how lame was that – he figured he could get away for at least a good thirty minutes.

More lies, he thought, sighing to himself. Because after that, of course, he would have to lie about coming back empty handed, saying something about the fact he couldn't find it or afford it. The problem was that over the past four months, the lying was getting to him.

But at the moment, he had a bigger issue to deal with.

Chuck poked his head out of the elevator and glanced around first. When he saw nobody, he dodged down the hallway in the direction of Casey's room. Or Bryce's room, depending upon which spy he talked to.

He'd better wipe that grin from his face before he got to their door.

On the other hand, it bothered him slightly that after the risk of discovering someone was looking for the Intersect, and just about being hauled off the ship because of this fact, there was absolutely no sign of one of his spy body guards hovering around him. In a way, it seemed like a security risk, but granted he was just the Intersect.

"Casey?" Chuck tapped on the door. "Casey, Bryce – it's me. Let me in. Oh. Hi," he said, jumping when the door swung open almost immediately. "That was fast."

"Think about it, numb nuts. How far did I have to walk?"

"Um, point for you," Chuck said, biting on his lip. He guessed Casey and Bryce wouldn't see the benefit, or humor, in that.

Casey's face looked like he had just stubbed his toe on the bed. "What are you doing here?"

"I – I need to talk – oof."

Casey cut that off midsentence by taking Chuck's shirt and pulling him inside. It was easy to gather he was livid about something, but Chuck had only said four words so far. Usually it took a couple more than that.

"Larkin," Casey growled at Bryce, and at the same time he gave Chuck's shirt a little shake. "What the hell is this?"

Bryce, who had been lounging on the bed, looked away from the TV, giving a quick appraisal of his friend. "Geez, Casey, I don't know. Either it's a Chuck Bartowski life size blow up doll, or it's the real thing. Maybe we should stick a pin in it and find out."

Mortally offended, Chuck opened his mouth to retort, and then thought better of it. The repartee between them only confirmed that Casey was wholly irritated with Bryce and not him, and he'd like to keep it that way. He wanted to remind Casey that it would only be prudent to direct his anger issues at the root cause, but Chuck was afraid that would earn him a shake to rattle his molars.

"I see that, CIA," Casey answered in a tone so scary Chuck tried to back away, if it weren't for the death grip on his shirt. "What I want to know," the angry NSA agent persisted, his eyes locked to Bryce, "is why he was out wandering the hallways -"

"Uh, you're kind of squeezing – _ow_."

"- when we know someone is looking for the Intersect!" The larger man looked back at the laptop, showing Morgan sitting obviously and painfully alone on the bed playing video games. "Chuck had to have walked out five minutes ago. And you, moron, were supposed to be watching surveillance."

Now Chuck really kept his mouth shut, because one just word, and this would become his fault.

"I only looked away for a minute to check the game." Bryce motioned up towards the rather tiny TV on the wall. "The Lakers are playing the Mavericks, and it's going into overtime."

"Son of a -" Casey grabbed the remote and flicked off the TV. When he deemed that that wasn't enough of a penance, he leaned over the bed and cuffed Bryce upside the head. "Dick for brains," he muttered, breathing through his nostrils. "Let me remind you, _Bryce_, you are a damn spy. You are on mission. It's your job to watch him, catch a weapons dealer, and find out who the hell is looking for the Intersect."

"Hey, I was only -"

"Your job is _not_," Casey rolled on, his angry face within two inches of Bryce's rather perplexed one, "to catch up on the box scores, drink Mai Tai, and get facials."

"Easy, Casey," Bryce said, climbing up from the bed. "Just a little oversight, that's all. And look. Chuck managed to get here without getting kidnapped. See?"

"Now just a minute," Chuck said, feeling the collar dig into his neck. "I'm perfectly capable of -"

"That's a first," Casey said, still talking to Bryce. "I don't care if the Goddamn Lakers are playing the Celtics in game 7 and its going into overtime." Paying no heed to Chuck's squirming, he kept Larkin in the cross hairs. "When I say watch the surveillance, I mean keep your eyes _pasted_ to the screen. Or I'll paste them to the screen for you." The visual seemed to please him if the feral grin was any clue. "Nod that you understood."

And then with the hand that wasn't on Chuck's shirt, Casey nodded Bryce's head for him by using a fist in his hair.

"Hey –" Bryce tried to bat his hand away. "That's not -"

"Good," Casey said, having none of it. "Glad we're on the same page." He looked sidelong at Chuck and let go of his shirt. "What."

"Which – what? Can I get more than one word?"

"_What_ the hell made you come running in here squealing like a prom queen?"

"If I had the time," Chuck said, smoothing his abused shirt, "I'd tell you I resent that. But we have to talk."

"Now?"

"There's a problem."

"God, tell me it's Blosjo." Casey was already reaching for his SIG. "You finally flashed?"

Bryce got off the bed. "Or do you know who thinks I'm the Intersect?"

"No. It's worse." Chuck heaved a deep breath. "It's Morgan."

Casey gave a squint that had death written on it. "Don't make me angrier, Bartowski. This day has already been one I want to wipe forever from the face of the earth."

"Hear me out," Chuck said, raising his palms. "It's just ... well – how do I say this without -"

"Spit it _out_."

"He's still suspicious of you two being lovers."

Bryce blinked at him. "He thinks ...?"

"You're faking it," Chuck finished.

Hearing that, the great John Casey seemed to jolt. Chuck tried to remember if he had seen him do that before. Maybe once in the Vic when he accidently switched the radio to NPR.

"Suspicious?" Casey gritted out at last.

"Tell him we're fine," Bryce said. "Just a ... lover's tiff."

"Tiff?" Chuck looked between them and rolled his eyes. "He says the only spark he sees between you is one at the end of a fuse. In fact," and Chuck paused to clear his throat, "he asked me if we should search your room for a Lorena Bobbitt Special – just so the 'boys' all come home safely?"

Casey said several very bad words. Then he added a few more when that was not sufficient nor the full spectrum of lively choices to characterize this scenario.

Next to him, Bryce hunched his shoulders and added a few of his own.

"If you guys don't think you can handle this," Chuck said, reaching into his pocket, "I can always talk to Sarah and see what she -"

"Put that phone away, or I'll shove it so far up your ass, you can dial numbers with your tonsils."

"Technically, there is no dial, Casey. See? It's a touch screen – an_nnn_d putting the phone away."

"I can't believe I have to say this." Bryce looked away, staring hard at the rumpled bed where he had sprawled out a minute ago. "But Chuck's right. If we don't ... act within the bounds of the cover, we're going to blow the mission."

"Look who's going all noble for the cause," Casey muttered. "Nothing wrong with the cover the way it is."

"Noth - are you serious?" Chuck's brows flew up. "You almost drowned him today in the water volleyball game!"

"Who knew the little prick could hold his breath for ninety seconds, eh?"

"You had me in a _headlock_," Bryce pointed out.

"Okay, guys. Enough." Chuck frowned at both men before turning to his handler. "Casey, I thought failure was not an option. I guess the Marines only meant that when it was _convenient_ to –"

"Bite your tongue," Casey said, and then let out a few more curses under his breath.

"Well?" Chuck asked, and he recognized the sign of concession when Casey took a half step towards Bryce. "Does that mean you're in?"

"Fine," Casey spit out in disgust. "We'll work on the cover – tomorrow."

"Um, funny you should mention that." Chuck shuffled his feet nervously as Morgan's daily itinerary was fished from his pocket. "Don't worry – Morgan made copies for everyone," he explained quickly. "The thing ... the thing is, he kinda signed you guys up for a contest tomorrow night ... because he sorta thought it might help get the two of you -"

Casey straightened. "Contest?"

"Ninjutsu?" Bryce asked.

"Well ... nothing quite that -"

"Skeet?" Casey sounded hopeful.

Chuck mustered up a smile. "Not ... exactly."

"Then what _exactly_."

"Well." Chuck put his finger under his collar to get some air. His handler's anger had a tendency to suck up all the available oxygen, and the room was tight enough as it was. "It's ... well, you see ..."

"Are you gonna tell us," Casey asked, "or do I get to play interrogate the Intersect."

Chuck backed up a step until he felt his shoulders against the wall. "It's an amusing story really ..."

"Yeah? This is my laughing face."

"Which looks an awful lot like your scary face, Casey."

Casey raised a brow. "Counting to three, and then I get my water board out of my duffle."

"You carry one of those in your -?"

"Two."

Chuck winced, said a silent prayer – and then blurted, "The foxtrot!"

Casey's face went utterly blank.

"The ... what?" Bryce asked.

"Foxtrot – and please don't kill me, Casey," Chuck felt compelled to add.

Casey eyed him in silence for so long that Chuck began to scope out alternative exits. Then he remembered the only other exit besides the door was the drainpipe. And his handler might consider it.

Actual emotions – _feelings_? – began to scurry over Casey's face. Confusion was chased out by realization, which was followed by anger and the urge to kill. The last two looked much more at home than the others, the kid noted.

Finally, total adjunctive horror settled in.

Well, they were at last agreeing on something, since Bryce's face looked the same.

"Guys." Chuck began waving his hands in a _let's stay calm_ manner. "Think of it this way. You have a five minute dance to convince him, and after that – as long as you don't kill each other -"

"That's a helluva if, Bartowski -"

"- I'm sure Morgan will believe you and go along with this."

Casey growled out another string of curses so blue even Bryce jerked his head back and blinked at him.

"Is that a yes?" Chuck asked, wrinkling his nose.

Instead of answering, Casey crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Bryce.

Chuck took that as assent. Horribly galled, provoked, and annoyed assent, but assent nonetheless.

"Okey-dokey, then." Chuck clasped his hands together and smiled, hoping it didn't belay the panic he felt. "There's just a tiny ... one more thing ..."

Suddenly, there was a large hand on his collar again. It clenched. If that wasn't enough – which it was - Casey pushed the skinnier man up against the door to ensure he had his attention. "So help me, Bartowski –"

"Easy, easy, big guy." Chuck tried to twist out of the grip, but that was just craziness. "I – I was only going to suggest that there is no way you can get out there on the dance floor tomorrow night ... without some practice?"

"Practice?" Bryce gave him a look. "I don't need dancing practice, Chuck. Sarah and I have _labada'ed_ our way out of sticky situations before."

"Oh, right," Chuck remarked, keeping his face deadpan. "I'm fairly certain that you and Sarah have waltzed out of many tight spots, but have you ever rumbaed with a man twice your size who could snap your neck with his pinky?"

"I'd like to see him try," Bryce said coolly.

"Hear that, Bartowski? Engraved invitation." Casey let go of his shirt, but it was only to have both fists available for his fake boyfriend. "If the sight of blood gets your skirt ruffled, Intersect, you might want to turn your head. I have a feeling the staff is going to find a terrible accident in room 4215 tomorrow morning."

"See? That's exactly what Morgan's talking about!" Chuck shook his head, giving them a reproving look. "What happened to being trained spies, hm?"

Bryce and Casey folded their arms over their chests in unison.

Casey quickly uncrossed his arms when he saw Bryce in the same stance. "And I don't need practice, either. I have danced before -"

"With a man, and may I hasten to add, that you've shot?"

"Twice," Bryce said.

"So far," Casey clarified.

"Oh, boy." Chuck sighed and waved a hand between the two of them. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. You may be able to dance, but I'm asking both of you – can you dance without giving him dagger eyes? Or just plain daggers?" He turned to Bryce. "Or taking out your ninja throwing stars?"

The fake boyfriends glowered at each other.

After a minute of posturing, Bryce, hesitating, might've shuffled in a pace.

And slowly, as if it was causing excruciating pain, Casey took a step closer.

_One step at a time_, Chuck thought.

Eons passed while Bryce and Casey sized each other up.

"Point, Bartowski," Casey grumbled at length. "But I'm only doing this one time. And if it shows up on one of those nerd websites -"

"Promise," Chuck offered up quickly, holding up three fingers. "No two-guy tangos on YouTube ... or the giant screens at the Buy More." He flashed an innocent grin to seal the deal, and slid his phone from his pocket.

"I thought you were putting that away," Casey spoke gruffly.

"No calls to the boss, Casey. I was just -"

"Walker ... is not ... the boss."

Chuck started to open his mouth, because with Casey this far off his game, she certainly was. But the flinty countenance told him this would not be the time to argue. "I only thought that we should set the mood."

"Oh, my mood has been set already," Casey said.

"Yes, I know, but I was referring to the one that doesn't include fire shooting from your eyeballs." Chuck flinched when Casey pointed his eyes at him. "I think that in order to do this, first you have to dial it down a bit, big guy."

"Maybe Casey needs the twenty minute tutorial on maintaining professionalism?"

"Uh, Bryce, not helping," Chuck said, coming between them as Casey puffed his chest out, ready to move. "I have found that goading The Casey only results sarcasm, threats, and then carrying out of said threats." He angled his head towards Casey. "Easy, breathe ... or those sounds ... good ... good."

Only when he was somewhat assured Casey wouldn't pick Bryce up by the neck, Chuck turned his attention to his iPhone.

"Anything with a four beat," Bryce offered before Chuck could ask.

"Thanks for clearing that up." Chuck rolled his eyes and scrolled. "Let's see – Google – music for Fox Trot ... It Had to Be You?"

"Pass," Casey said.

"The Way You Look Tonight?"

Casey looked over at Bryce. "He's still alive, so no."

"Thanks, Casey," Bryce sneered.

"Cheek to Cheek?"

"Sounds like the damn sleeping arrangements last night."

"The Best is Yet to Come?"

"Is there one called Shark Bait at Sunset?"

"Er, Fly Me to the Moon?" Chuck suggested.

"Eh. Has Promise."

"That's it," Bryce said. "If he can't be serious -"

"Ah! Here we go." Chuck waggled his phone in the air triumphantly. "Night and Day."

They both slanted their glowers at him.

"Oh, come on," Chuck argued. "What is more of an antithesis in all of nature than night and day? And the two of you?" The skeptical looks wavered, and sensing victory, Chuck added with enthusiasm, "This is your song, guys!"

Casey turned to Bryce. "You got ice skates?"

"No," Bryce answered cautiously. "I'm going to regret this, but why?"

"Because apparently, we have a song now – which means Hell just froze over, so you're gonna need them."

"Let's get his over with, shall we?" Bryce said, looking around the room. "Though there's not much square footage in here for dancing."

"Or breathing. But, darn, it hasn't stopped you." Casey then lifted his chin, staring him down. "I'm not going outside these four walls to dance with you, so make it work, Larkin."

Chuck thought better of pointing out one pesky detail: that tomorrow night he would have to dance with Bryce _and_ several hundred pairs of eyes on them in order for Morgan to be appeased.

"We have the music, now we just need ..." He turned and scanned the room quickly, deciding on the best spot. "The space at the foot of the bed. It's the only place where I think you can get a few steps in either direction."

Using all their might not to recoil, and as if the weight of the earth itself was on their shoulders, the men sauntered to the foot of the bed. Bryce tipped his head to gaze up at the ceiling, suddenly finding something interesting, while Casey approached him like a giant grizzly bear. One that could bite a bowling ball in half.

Chuck raised his hand. "Guys? So far, you're not selling it."

"What do you mean," Casey said. "We're standing close."

"This is going to come as news to you," Chuck replied, unable to contain an ironic tone. "But unless you plan on growing longer arms in the next ten seconds, Casey, you have to get closer."

"He can move closer," Casey said.

"Mature, Casey." Bryce answered, and an unpleasant smile touched his lips.

"Boys, let's behave, shall we?" Chuck found the only chair in the room and dragged it over by the foot of the bed. After he spun it around, he took a seat and rested his elbows on the back of it. "The way you're looking at him, Casey? Let's just say I'm still not getting that loving feeling."

"Don't you look _comfortable_, Bartowski?" Casey turned his glare away from Bryce long enough to notice the way Chuck had settled in. "Didn't think we needed a choreographer."

"Closer," Chuck said, trying to put some authority in his voice.

They looked down at him. But instead of backing away or pushing Bryce against the wall, Casey did slide in a step.

In turn, Bryce clenched his jaw and met the step.

As they moved in – his mind naturally added _for the kill_ - Chuck blinked up at them. The thought that had ebbed into his mind could get him killed in several incredibly innovative ways, but watching two out of three of the prettiest and most perfect people he knew getting ready to dance ... made him self-conscious enough to almost blush.

Okay. Not that. Think of death, he told himself, and the many ways Casey would carry it out if he even knew that thought.

"What the hell are you looking at, Bartowski?"

"I – uh -" Chuck did more blinking until it actually cleared his head. "That right there? That was the most frighteningly contentious approach I have ever witnessed between two dance partners." He craned his neck to give Casey an accusing eyeball. "You look like you want to punch him."

"I do," Casey said.

"Great," Chuck mumbled. He rested his chin in his hands and briefly closed his eyes. "Let's try to do this without drawing blood, okay? Haven't either of you ever seen Dancing with the Stars?"

Bryce shook his head.

Casey just looked like he had swallowed a lemon. Whole.

"Wow. Okay, then. Bryce, just start by taking his shoulder." It was a scientific experiment to see what would happen, the kid figured, and he was awfully glad not to be the guinea pig for this one.

"Just answer me this," the NSA agent asked. "Do I get to throw him?"

"Throw, Casey?" Bryce gave him a derisive tilt of the head. "I remember the promenade, the back step, and the corner step – but I don't remember the 'toss your partner' step."

"Yeah? Well, it's easy. Even the CIA can do it. In fact, I'll teach you right now -"

As Casey reached, Chuck shot to his feet and took his life in his hands by slipping between them. Arms flailed, and one hand landed on Casey's chest.

Casey froze. "Death wish, Bartowski?"

"All right, that's it. I can't make the two spies in the room do their job, I guess, so I'm done here. I tried. I really did, but if the two of you want to screw up everything by -"

"Sit your ass down." And then Casey helped him do that very thing, none too gently.

The chair rocked as Chuck found his butt planted there. Knowing he had no choice but to stay put, he risked a dirty look up at his handler. "Geez, thanks, Casey. How would I find my seat without your help?"

"Just shut up and play the music."

Chuck's head snapped up. Maybe all along he should've used compliance by foisting the onus of mission failure on Casey. That worked almost too well.

"Are you going to do this?" Chuck asked.

Bryce and Casey flicked suspicious glances at one another. They really were not making much progress, Chuck wanted to say, but he bit his tongue and went back to bringing up the song.

"I guess we are," Bryce replied after a cold pause.

The thrumming beat of a drum, followed by the brassy notes of trombones, filled the tiny room to the corners. Chuck quickly turned up the volume. "There. Okay." He leaned forward on his elbows and shifted his gaze up. "Let's see it."

What he saw was terrifying. Because if progress was at a standstill before, it now looked to be slamming into a wall. Each calculated move – Casey's thumb tucked in his pocket, Bryce's arms resting at his side - reminded the kid of two angry wolves, circling, staking their territory, waiting for one to slip up before lunging for the throat.

"Wow. That's ... a bit scary." Chuck reached down to fiddle with his iPhone. "Morgan was right about something,"

"What?" Casey and Bryce said together, not breaking eye contact.

"You haven't even touched, for crying out loud, let alone dance! He said that the two of you shouldn't be so ... shy. He said that you needed to ... well, you know, amp up the PD -"

"God, do _not_ say that word, Bartowski."

"In principle, it's not a word. It's a TLA. A three letter acronym? And this one so happens to mean Public Displays of –"

"Aggression?"

"Annihilation?"

Chuck's mouth dropped open. "You two seem to have those covered. I meant _affection_. Are you familiar with the concept?"

Casey narrowed his eyes, meaning that came awfully close to crossing the line. "I know what it is, Bartowski. But in this case, I prefer asphyxiation."

"I can't believe I have to play bad cop here, guys," Chuck said, and squared his shoulders. "But if you want this to work, you're going to become quite familiar with the notion of a little _amour_, got it?" Before Casey could snarl at him, he turned the volume up even higher. "There you go. Time to trot, guys. That's your song."

Moseying in another step closer, Chuck vaguely wondered if Casey had packed anything else to wear, because it didn't seem appropriate to fox trot in jeans and a black polo. Or the look of Black Death. Admittedly, however, Chuck had only tangoed once before, and even Awesome wore just a towel for that.

Though silently seething, the spies gradually lined up face to face. Standing in their bare feet only accentuated the fact that Casey was a good half foot taller than Bryce, and he seemed pleased by that. Especially now that he could loom over his fake lover while he studied Bryce's hair, his face screwing up with disdain.

"All right, that's a start," Chuck said, hoping that his voice held enough encouragement before Casey got Bryce in another headlock. "I hate to be the one to break this to you, but your hands have to find somewhere else to go. And perhaps not in fists like that, Casey."

"Aren't we picky?"

"I just want to get this over with," Bryce said. After another second or two of foot-dragging, he shook his head and hurriedly placed his hands on either side of Casey's waist.

Casey stilled, apparently shell-shocked for a half second, and then looked down. "If those move in a centimeter in any direction," he said, "and by that I mean southward, you'll win the fox trot contest just on the sympathy vote."

"Sympathy vote?"

"Sure. 'Armless man with broken nose fox trots his way to first place'? Everybody loves an underdog."

"More threats. What a surprise." Reflexes, or maybe distrust, made Bryce take his hands away and fold his arms safely against his chest. "Way to work on the cover, Casey."

"You know, John, beneath the cynicism and bitterness, Bryce has a point." Chuck shot a pained look up at them to try and lift the suffocating blanket of tension. Neither man noticed, so he held up the iPhone. "Not to be Bob Fosse here, but can we start from the top? Bryce, you're going to have to put your hands back where they were."

"Same rule applies," Casey told him as Bryce guardedly slipped his hands on Casey's waist. "Let that slide to one cheek? Even by accident? Armless."

"Um, Casey?" Before he gave the next order, Chuck wriggled back in the chair to get out of arm's reach of his handler. "You ... have to do the same. Sorry. But you have to hold Bryce while you're dancing. I think it's required in the fox trot. Any ballroom dancing, actually."

"I will kill that troll for this," Casey said. Maybe realizing it would go faster if he just did it, nevertheless, the NSA agent dropped his enormous hand on Bryce's waist. "There. Start moving your feet, Baryshnikov."

"Ow. Watch your clumsy toes, will you, Casey?"

Chuck watched them while they started to ... well, it didn't quite look like dancing yet. Besides the fact that awkwardness was being brought to new levels, something was a bit off about the pose. Not just the stilted, robotic way in which they stood close and had placed their hands, but more ungainly than that.

It took a few seconds for the answer to hit the kid between the eyes.

"I know what the problem is," Chuck said, halting the music again. "Bryce, it's your hands."

"My hands?" Bryce gave Chuck an uneasy look before daring a glimpse up at Casey. "Hey, I didn't even come close to that zip code."

"Not that." Chuck toggled back to the beginning of the song. "Bryce, your hands are on Casey's waist. They need to be on his upper arms – or shoulders."

Bryce picked up his hands and got halfway there. That was where he froze. "Hang on," he said. "That's the girl's position."

Casey looked down his nose at him and snorted softly. "Got to be kidding me."

Chuck looked between Bryce and Casey and slanted his head in puzzlement.

Bryce seemed to pick up on the _are you that dense_ head tilt. "Why am I the one that has to be in the girl's position?" Stubbornly, he kept his hands where they were. "Why can't Casey put his hands on my shoulders?"

Casey drew his eyes to slits.

Chuck had to fight an uncomfortable cough. Now this was a tad awkward.

"Because," Casey finally said, and he made a show of standing over him. "It would look damn silly with the female partner's hands there."

"And how is it an automatic assumption for this situation?"

"In _this_ situation? Heh." Amused by the insinuation, Casey helped Bryce along by moving his hands for him. "Hope you don't mind getting dipped, Larkin."

"No, hang on, Casey. I still say that you can – what is it Chuck?" The last was directed at the nerd, and it certainly didn't hide Bryce's exasperation with him.

"Can I interrupt?" Though in truth, he already had by raising his hand. "Okay, I think I can clear this up."

"Yeah?" Bryce asked, indiscreetly slipping his hands back down to Casey's middle. "How?"

"Well, I don't know if you noticed this," he said to Bryce, choosing each word carefully, "but Casey could use the top of your head as a chin rest."

"Or a drink holder," Casey added for clarification, smirking at Bryce's dark waves.

"And I'm not the expert here," Chuck pressed on, waving a hand at them, "but I think that places you firmly in the girl position by default."

"Ipso facto." With Chuck's unbiased support firmly in place, Casey snatched Bryce's hand and move it up his arm in victory. "I could pick you up and twirl you over my head – if that will help convince you."

"No thanks," Bryce said between stiff lips. All the same, he didn't move his hand from Casey's bicep. "This doesn't mean I'm agreeing with you. It only means I want to get this over with."

The next several minutes were spent figuring out that the only way to practice in the Hamster Cage was to use micro steps. It was also spent with more cursing than Chuck deemed necessary, but after playing the song twice, they were getting the hang of it.

"Not bad. You guys have done this before haven't you?" Avoiding the black looks from his handler and ex-friend, the kid queued up the song again and tried not to grin up at them. "If you get it this time, we can call it a night."

"If Mr. Fat Feet can remember the promenade," Bryce said. "Back, back, corner step – not 'crush your partner's toes' step."

"I could just crush you instead," Casey pointed out.

"All right, guys," Chuck said, once again the voice of reason. "Just dance, okay?" Since they kept going, he tipped his head side to side in beat with the tune. "Good, good. _Night and Day, you are the one ..._."

"Are you singing, Bartowski?"

"Nope." Chuck grinned behind Casey's back. "Never knew you had such fancy footwork, Casey - and Bryce, I hate to tell you, but your hands need to go back up again, not at Casey's waist -"

"Chuck! Are you in there?"

Chuck jerked in his seat, almost dropping his phone. _"It's Morgan!"_ he whispered.

"_Don't you dare open that door, Bartowski, or I will -"_

"Guys?" Morgan's voice, from the other side of the door, was not going away. "I hear you whispering. I mean, come on, this door is as thick as Kleenex. Open up!"

"_I have to let him in,"_ Chuck hissed back at Casey's angry expression. _"He knows we're here."_

"_Stay in that chair,"_ Casey mouthed at him, his jaw muscles twitching. _"That is an order, Chuck – hey!"_

"Morgan ... what a surprise," Chuck said, reaching over to open the door. Considering the room size and his long arms, he could do that without getting out of the chair. "What are doing down here?"

"I should be asking you that, buddy. I thought you were – whoa." Morgan stopped dead in his tracks. "Hold on ..." He turned his head slowly, looking Casey and Bryce up and down, still locked in a basic step stance. "You told them, man! I wanted it to be a surprise!"

"It was an accident. You know I can't keep secrets." Okay, so not counting the mother lode of all secrets, Chuck thought. "They ... I – I might have mentioned it during dinner-"

"You didn't tell them about the class I signed them up for, too?"

"N-no." Chuck half smiled, though he was sure it was a grimace. "I'll let you tell them ... later."

Casey gave the nerd a look that said there would be a painful debriefing after this.

"They just asked me to help with the dancing, that's all."

Morgan let out a resigned huff and held up a hand to stop any further apologies. "Fine ... fine. Let's take a look." The bearded man tapped his cheek as he examined them. "Well, you could start by having Bryce put his hands on Casey's shoulders," he said.

As one, Casey and Chuck turned to Bryce and raised their brows.

Bryce gave a deep scowl and backed away, folding his arms over his chest. "Lesson over for tonight. Let's hit the sack."

"Bryce has a point." Faced with too many bodies in a tight spot, Casey took the collars of the nerds and hustled them out the doorway. "Out. Good night."

"Ow – ah – my phone?" Chuck said while being manhandled out the door.

A brawny arm reached out and shoved it in his hand as the door slammed shut.

"Uh, thanks."

"Whoa. Intense." Morgan put his hands on his hips and stared at the door. "Must be in for some wild shaboink tonight, hm?"

"Buddy." Chuck moved away from the door and signaled his hands lower. "You may want to keep your voice down."

"What? What did I say?"

-x-

"How old school, Walker," Casey said, unbuttoning his black sport coat in order to take a seat at the bar. "A note taped on the mirror of our bathroom."

"Our?" For a moment, she ignored the patron waiting for a beer and turned a smile at him. "The next thing I know, the two of you will be sharing a toothbrush – and the hot water in the shower?"

Casey folded his elbows over the bar and rubbed his forehead with both hands. "Just get that look off your face and make it a double."

"You might want to go easy on that, Casey," Sarah said, sliding a glass in front of him. "I hear that you need to be light on your feet tonight. It's only six. You still have to survive Morgan giving you White Knights pointers at dinner."

Picking up the glass, Casey downed the scotch in one big gulp. "If you have any mercy, you'll refill that. As in now."

"But that's it. Seriously, Casey." Another healthy shot of scotch was poured under Sarah's watchful eye. "I've ... never seen you so off kilter during a mission. Chuck might've ... well, mentioned it, too."

Big Mouth Intersect. "You've never seen me have to fox trot with Bryce Larkin," he said, taking an easier slug this time. "While the Intersect sat back and gave instructions."

Sarah bit down on her lip, as if that would hide her teeth. "I heard Morgan is ... suspicious."

"Well, if he's suspicious now," Casey said, "wait until I toss his comatose body off the stern – the only question is before or after Bryce's." As he spoke, he shoved the glass over the bar top. "A question for the ages, Walker. Now hit me again."

There was a chance he pushed it too far with that, because one blink at him, and the playful version of Sarah was replaced by all Kickass Mission Mode Sarah. "Go easy on that," she said. "I thought we should talk."

"I assume you have something for us?" It was obvious she wanted to discuss the op away from Bryce, and he was pleased that she had omitted the twit from the informal briefing. "Anything to go on?"

She didn't answer right away. Casey figured that there must've been movement where Bryce sat a few tables away, or from Morgan and Chuck, who were helping themselves to the appetizer seafood platter. The NSA agent didn't bother to turn around; instead he followed Sarah's eyes as they shifted past him, following someone across the room.

"Chuck's on the move?" Casey asked, because the way she kept her eyes on him told Casey it had to be the Intersect.

"Mm. Looks like he's getting a drink at the margarita bar."

Casey grunted. When he picked up his glass and swiveled a look past his shoulder, he saw that the modern Ice Bar at the other end of the Gotham lounge seemed to draw a crowd. Men gathered around a glass bar made to look like an arc of smooth ice, watching a bartender in a white fur Sherpa hat make drinks on a table made of carved blocks of ice. Casey wondered what it had to do with Gotham, but recalling the last time he was in New York City – in January - he did nearly freeze his nuts off, so there was that similarity at least.

The kid stood next to the wall, waiting in line at the Ice Bar for whatever frou-frou drink he was having tonight. Meant he didn't even notice Sarah behind the other bar yet, which was good, because Casey wanted some time away from the happy couple horse shit and the mission altogether.

"Did Bryce see my note?"

"No." Casey took a smaller sip. "But do you care to explain what that's all about?"

"Well, for one, I wanted to see what your ... sleeping arrangements were like." There was a break while she set a beer in front of another customer at the other end of the bar, and came back to stand in front of her partner. "Boy, Chuck was right about the room. It is rather ... cramped, isn't it?"

Casey sighed in aggravation. "I meant the mission. Gotham Lounge, six o'clock. And here we are. So what Intel do you have, Walker?"

"What game is Bryce playing?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the kid.

"Parcheesi or scratch himself. I know which one I'd guess."

Sarah turned her head slightly to give him a hard look. "I heard him say he wanted to try and 'break up Chuck and Morgan'. To get better sleeping arrangements? Is that true?" Her eyes became tiny shards of blue ice. "This isn't a contest, is it?"

Casey frowned, hiding his surprise that Sarah had heard that much of Bryce's chatter. "I told him no," he said flatly. "But this is Bryce Larkin. Dick head at large. Maybe he still wants to trade up to palatial digs _and_ tap the asset for old times' sake." Casey took another swallow, savoring it this time since Walker was going to be stingy on the next pour. "What about it?"

"I don't want to see Chuck get hurt – he's been ... hurt enough lately. I hate the thought of anyone he likes messing with his head."

"Not gonna happen," Casey said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "The kid still has the sense, at least, to dislike his asshat of a roommate."

Sarah gave him a level look. "I wasn't talking about Bryce. I was talking about you."

Some scotch spurted inelegantly over the bar. While Sarah quickly wiped down the bar top, he worked on repressing the coughing fit before even trying to snort at that.

"What the hell are you talking about," Casey finally managed between sputters.

"I think you heard me," Sarah said, getting him a few more napkins.

"The kid hates me."

"Well, he's slightly terrified of you, I'll give you that much," Sarah conceded. "But he also slightly worships the ground you crush - by saving his neck on nearly a daily basis."

"And I see him following you like a devoted puppy at every eyelash you bat at him. Big Deal. What's your point?"

"I said I don't want you playing with him –"

"Playing? The hell?"

"I just wanted to make sure you weren't part of the bet. It will just gouge his heart a bit more, okay?" Sarah ignored Casey's stern expression that hid his bafflement. "Frankly, I couldn't care less what Bryce tries, because I agree with you: Chuck's over that hill." Her brow furrowed. "Unless Bryce decides to go rock climbing with the asset again. Then I will have to kick his ass."

"Idiot," Casey granted, taking another drink. "Get in a kick for me, will you?"

"Happily." Sarah was quiet for a minute, just wiping out a stack of glasses. Her eyes were on his face, and Casey didn't like it.

"Was there a real reason for this briefing?" he asked.

"I'm getting there." She regarded him for a minute, and said, "You don't believe me do you? That Chuck's smitten with you ...?"

"No, not likely." Casey felt the muscles along his shoulders tighten, and because Walker would notice those types of tells, he took another drink. "Not pretty? Ugly?"

At first she seemed puzzled, but it only took a moment before Sarah flashed a knowing smile. "Oh?"

Ah, hell. Casey immediately regretted taking this thread of conversation further by even a single word. Of course, she misinterpreted what he meant, as if he had tucked Chuck's drug-induced words away, left to dig under his skin, and had waited to bring them to the surface at the most inopportune moment.

Walker was nuts, because for one thing, only women did that. Not men, and sure as hell not John Casey.

"So you do remember?"

"Ping me when you get some news on the mission," Casey said, reaching for his drink. He started to get up.

"Sit," Sarah ordered.

Casey squinted at her for a long moment before sliding back into the barstool.

"The day before Thanksgiving? When Bryce escaped? It seems you remember that night." Sarah stopped to pick up an empty beer bottle and stowed it in a bin. "You went after Tommy, while I stayed with Chuck at the facility until the drug wore off."

"So?"

"Chuck was still hallucinating," she said, a slight smile curving her lip. "After you left, I saw that any man who came into the room to check on him – one of the doctors or a technician – pretty much got the same thing." She leaned over the counter and chuckled. "One of them wasn't very happy, but I think I figured it out."

"Figured what out," Casey growled, hoping it would get to the end of this sooner.

"When he saw your face, or any other man's face, he still saw Tommy – at least for several hours." Pausing, she made a small slashing gesture with a finger across her cheek. Meaning the scar, Casey figured. "Not pretty. Ugly," she repeated.

"Can we just leave it at the kid loathes me, and get on with it?"

"Loathes? 'Your jaw was carved by Michelangelo himself'?"

Great, now she was throwing out the kid's words after they had been dosed with a truth serum.

"I have to admit," and with her eyes sweeping down, Sarah then took a long gander at said jaw, "It is nice."

Casey got his glass halfway to his mouth before he realized it was empty. "More booze back there, Walker, or do I have to climb over the bar?"

"Is this making you uncomfortable?"

"Nothing makes me uncomfortable," Casey said, and swore softly. "Doesn't mean anything."

"No, maybe that doesn't." Sarah splashed the tiniest amount of scotch in his glass, and nudged it within reach while studying his face. "But trust me, as the drug was wearing off, Chuck had some other words to say about parts of you that had to be carved from marble." Another slow smile crossed her face. "I'm just glad you weren't there to hear it. I don't know if they would've found the body."

"God." Casey looked past his shoulder. He had to make sure no one was within ear shot. "This is only half the story. I'm sure he had plenty to babble on about you, Walker." He smirked over his glass and took a drink. "I bet he told you your CIA fake boobs are carved from alabaster, eh?"

Heh. Point for the NSA.

"Not quite," Sarah said. She took a moment to pour a soft drink for a man who had come up the bar, and when she shifted her gaze, Casey guessed her eyes were trained on Chuck. "He asked if we could get back together."

"Can't believe the kid wants to resume the most nauseating relationship on earth."

Sarah fiddled with the corner of a napkin. This was new. He had never seen her quite this hesitant. "That wasn't all of it. He ... he was still feeling the effects of the drugs ..." Sarah cleared her throat. "But Chuck ..."

"Just say it so we can move on," Casey said.

"Wants to be with you, too."

When Casey looked at her, strangely, she didn't laugh or make a joke of it. "_Moron_," he whispered, taking a drink. "I don't sleep with men."

"Besides the current situation?" she asked, pointing her chin towards Bryce.

"Stuff it, Walker. And get that damn smile off your face. You know what I mean."

Whatever bug she had up her ass, she didn't give up that easily. Instead of accepting defeat, she moved over to stand directly in front of him and lowered her eyes level with his.

"John," Sarah said. Just that one word, coupled with the perceptive look on her face, and it immediately pissed him off to no end. "We both know, okay?"

He shouldn't be doing or saying things to drag this out, but the anger came from a place rooted low, buried. "Both," Casey asked, setting his glass down.

"Not Chuck. I mean ... Graham and I."

With no warning, he grabbed her wrist, letting her know play time was over. "What did you do?"

Those chips of blue ice became serious. He knew she could take her wrist back in a heartbeat, and probably leave him with a few broken fingers for his efforts, but she let him play tough guy for now. "Graham did it for me."

"Those files are top secret," Casey said, his jaw tightening.

"He pulled a few strings for me after it was determined we would be staying in Burbank – for the time being."

"Strings?" Casey studied her intently and let go of her hand, tossing it back to her. "He could lose his position for that. And I could be the one to make that happen."

"But you won't." Sarah set her teeth. "You would have to come forward with the sensitive data that was leaked - and I don't think you're willing to do that."

"You had no business snooping around in prior missions, Agent Walker."

"If I was going to be assigned longer than a few weeks," Sarah answered mildly, "or months perhaps to a new partner, Graham and I both thought it prudent to find out as much as we could about that man." She went back to rolling up a towel while her gaze swept over him. "We wanted to know if you're really the cold-school killer with a reputation for efficiency, or if there were other secrets I should be made aware of, considering the long term proximity."

"Fancy way for saying you violated policy," Casey told her. "And what did you find out?"

At first, she didn't reply. Casey watched as she shifted her line of sight to the left. "What is it?" he asked, sensing the change in her demeanor.

"Blosjo just entered the lounge at the south east entrance," she said. "He's alone. No sign of the mysterious partner he brought on board."

Casey lifted his drink and casually turned in his seat, scanning the dimly lit, modern lounge. One long wall of glass overlooked the sea, the view lined with tables covered in white linens for those couples looking for a romantic dinner. A pianist clinked out love ballads from a grand piano in one corner of the room.

"He's moving over to the bar where Chuck is standing," Casey said quietly as he took a drink, pretending to check out the crowd. "Is Chuck texting?"

Sarah lifted her head to look over at him. "Probably Ellie, but cut him some slack, all right? We did rip him out of his life for this mission. And you know how Ellie is when she doesn't hear from her brother."

"Where's Blosjo?"

"I've got eyes on him. Both of them."

"Suppose my doofus _partner_ didn't notice?" Casey asked, turning back to face the bar.

"Actually, he did. Bryce gave me a signal."

Casey pushed his glass away and started to get up again. "I'll make my way over there."

"Chuck's fine." Sarah nodded downward, silently asking him to sit. "I wasn't done, yet."

Casey lowered himself and looked up at her, a hundred percent certain she knew more. Hell, probably all of it.

Maybe he should make an excuse to visit the restroom. But she wasn't going to let go until she got it out.

"All right. We'll play it your way for now." Casey rested against the back of the chair, forcing his shoulders to unwind. "What did you find out?"

"I found out the answer is both." Sarah rested her hands on the bar and arched a brow. "Yes, your record is rather astounding – more successful mission completions in the past twenty years than most see in three lifetimes. That wasn't surprising, I guess ... yet there were other elements that were ... more mysterious."

"Mysterious?" Casey's voice got low and dark. "You forget, Walker, my job description with the NSA isn't glad-handing politicians or pushing stacks of paper. I take care of glitches before they become bigger problems."

"That part of your record isn't what I'm referring to," Sarah replied, and her eyes shifted to the corner of the room where Chuck and Blosjo had to be standing. "I meant that it's full of carefully deleted omissions in a few areas – the ones that usually point to one thing."

"I point to a lot of things in my line of work, sister."

"Agreed. I saw that your record is dripping with kills to prove it. But ... you had a couple of marks – or were they assets? - earlier in your career where the details are ... murky."

"So?"

She handed him a glass of water. "Some of them were not female."

"Well, doesn't that narrow it down," Casey said with a good deal of contempt. He let a long ten seconds pass as he took a drink. "I was asked to use what I had when the outcome could be advantageous to national security. I'm sure you're familiar with the concept, CIA."

"One of your first assignments very early on was quite interesting. A male mark who ... I guess we could say enjoyed the company of tall men."

"You about done here?"

Sarah became instantly on guard, but it was directed across the room. "Blosjo is talking to the man next to him at the bar."

"Bryce better be getting some surveillance shots," Casey grumbled.

She looked past Casey's back. "He is."

"Chuck?"

"Ellie must have him captured in order to hear the details of the trip so far. He hasn't looked up. He's about six feet away from the mark."

"No sign of a flash, then?"

"Sorry." Sarah glanced down at him. "There wasn't much detail after that for the next few weeks," she went on, easily keeping the conversation rolling as she watched Blosjo. "Until there was a capture and a gold star for you, it seems."

"Yeah, cigars for everyone." Casey kept his stone-like countenance in place and took a small swallow from his water glass. "It was a job."

"It wasn't nearly as interesting as one a few years later," she said. "I saw in your file that there was a mark you were assigned to for nine months."

"Not all my missions are load, aim, and shoot, Walker."

"No, not all of them," Sarah agreed matter-of-factly. "But over that period of time, the mark went from being one of our primary targets to bust a crime syndication, to becoming an inside informant for us. An asset. Quietly – and _well-coached_, I would guess, he gathered evidence against every syndicate member. And when the bust came down, he ended up being the key witness in the trial."

Casey kept busy swirling his drink until he realized that was the same as acknowledging the truth. "You have it all figured out, don't you."

"He disappeared into WITSEC after that, of course." As she relayed the story, her eyes drew to slits for a beat, keeping tabs on the action across the room. "I wonder if he's still alive."

"Those records are sealed," Casey said. Along with any memories they may drum up. There were some secrets that just needed to stay that way. Hell, every spy who was young and had any decent looks – man or woman – was asked to use whatever means necessary to get the job done at some point. Most of them learned not to talk about it.

"Chuck has stopped texting ... and Blosjo ... he moved a little closer." Sarah rested her elbows on the bar and spoke softly into her two-way watch. "Bryce, you need a drink. Why don't you join Chuck by the bar next to the piano?"

Casey gave a look over his shoulder and hit the two way button on his watch. "And Bryce? Try not to get groped on the way over there."

"Because Casey's the jealous type," Sarah added with a smirk. She then pretended to ignore Casey's killer look to watch the action over his shoulder. "The asset, though. The one in WITSEC? The only thing I can come up with is that the undercover spy who spent nine months with him had to be very ... _convincing_."

"What are Bryce and the asset doing now?"

Sarah bit down on her bottom lip for a second. "Don't move or turn around -"

"Do I look like a rookie, Walker?"

"But Blosjo gave up on the other guy and is talking to Chuck." With a look of nonchalance, she began wiping down the bar. "In fact, I think he might be flirting with him."

"So let me get this straight. With glamour boy Bryce standing close by, he's still flirting with the nerd? His tastes must run towards the unique." Casey slipped one hand inside his sport coat down by his waist, adjusting his firearm. Precautionary, but this could get interesting, and he wanted his fingers close to the SIG's grip. "Is Chuck reciprocating, or just stammering like an idiot?"

"Hold it together, Chuck," Sarah murmured under her breath. "Just hold ... it ... together."

"So, it was the latter, then." Casey half turned, ready to get up. "I'm on it."

"No, he's fine ..." Sarah lifted one hand to stop him. "He's talking to him." Her brows lifted ever so slightly in the kid's direction as she whispered quiet encouragement. "Nice work, Chuck. That's it. Get him relaxed and talking. See if you can flash on anything ..."

"He can't hear you. The nerd's wire isn't on."

"I know, but it makes me feel like I'm helping him."

Casey shook his head. "Now what am I missing?"

"Blosjo just put his hand on Chuck's arm," Sarah said quietly. "He must be one of those touchy folks when they're talking. Who knew? A cuddly arms dealer."

"Eh. Hate those people." Casey looked up at her. "Are we about done here, because I'm going to head over to the other bar. Bryce is going to screw this up."

"Wait." Sarah put a hand on his arm, ignoring the way Casey froze when she did. "One more thing, Casey, and then I'm done. About Chuck."

"What about him," Casey rumbled, his tone letting her know that this was the end of it.

"I just want to make it clear that out of all the women and men you were ordered to ... _handle_, Chuck is one I don't want to see hurt. He likes you, Casey. Don't screw that up, okay?"

"Don't kid yourself," Casey said. "He still likes you, Walker."

"That's true." She sighed and leaned against the bar. "But I've hurt him enough. And I'm sorry for it. Who knows, maybe it can still be fixed, but you ..."

"Not looking right now," Casey broke in, his voice so low it barely emitted a sound.

Sarah's eyes seemed to burn through him. "Because you're waiting for the right person – someone honest, loyal to a fault, smart, and someone who thinks the world of you?"

God, after months of not saying anything, this woman finally says something, and now he wants her to _shut the hell up._

Casey tipped his head back and finished the last gulp. He hoped she got the signal. The conversation was officially over. "What's he doing now?"

"He seems to be holding it together ... except making that funny smile."

"Yeah, that's Bartowski code. It means he's crapping his pants right now."

"Shh." Sarah was quiet for a minute since she was busy gauging the failed attempt at reciprocal flirting. "That son of a bitch ..." she uttered to herself. "I don't believe this guy."

"What?" Casey asked, tamping down the urge not to turn around. "Should we be moving in, Walker? Does the Intersect need protection?"

"Huh. Not that kind. Only if you have full body armor." Sarah's frown deepened. "This guy is the all-hands-on-deck type. Wow. It's like Chuck's wearing contact paper on the back of his khakis."

"Where the hell is Larkin?"

"He's standing there ... close by." Sarah lowered her lashes, only to give Casey a droll look. "He seems amused by Chuck's predicament."

"And let me guess: half shocked that it's not him getting hit on."

Sarah didn't argue the point. "No one likes a hand-sy flirt, but I think Chuck is a bit out matched here. I think he just tested one cheek like a melon."

"Did the kid just bitch slap him for his forwardness?"

"No, though he does look a bit flustered."

"Hand waving?" It was getting harder not to turn around, but Walker's play-by-play had to suffice for another minute or two. "Lips moving a thousand miles a minute?"

"Yep to both." Sarah's jaw fell. "Um, wow. I think he just put his hand on Chuck's waist. Let's just say they could be dancing hip to hip."

"They could take our place in the contest, eh?"

"Mm. Okay, that was Chuck's limit. I see him signaling towards the appetizer table and now to Morgan. It looks like he's making an excuse to get away. No sign of a flash, either."

"Figures." Though Casey wasn't sure how he felt about Blosjo copping so many feels of nerd flesh, something was making the hair on his neck tingle. "I'm getting Chuck out of there," he said, beginning to climb up again.

"He's slipping a piece of paper into Chuck's front pocket. Of his _shorts_."

Casey repressed the disgust he felt – and the sense that it bothered him to know the kid was thrown into a situation he wasn't ready to handle.

"Easy, Casey." The look of warning on Sarah's face suggested that he count to three before turning around, since one look at that slime and he'd want to punch him. The troublesome nugget of thought on why he felt that way was pushed to the back of his mind. "No one's in danger."

"What the hell is Chuck doing?"

"Besides jerking his hip out of the way, smacking into a waitress carrying a platter of plates, and almost knocking over a tray of shrimp cocktail?"

"Jesus." Casey's index finger and thumb came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, Walker. Besides that."

"Now, he is starting to freak out."

"Bet the kid wishes we airlifted him out of here, now," Casey said, pivoting around.

"Hold on." He felt Sarah take a handful of his sleeve and give him a gentle pull. "Don't go in there guns blazing, Casey." As she watched his reaction, for a reason he didn't want to know, she had a hint of a smile. "Blosjo whispered something in Chuck's ear and walked away. He's leaving."

"What are you up to, you little douche?" Casey mumbled under his breath. His eyes locked on the back of Blosjo's head in his patented intense gaze. "Couldn't have been just an innocent hit and run."

"Maybe it was, because he's gone. I have to say I'm a bit relieved for Chuck. Look." Sarah nodded. "He's going back to Morgan."

"See? Nothing can break up true love, eh?" Casey chuckled throatily.

"Morgan actually looks ... a bit angry over that." Sarah wrinkled her brow as she thought about it. "I wonder who gets to break the news to him - that Chuck really isn't his boyfriend."

"Where's Larkin?"

"He tailed Blosjo." She sent a furtive glance toward the exit before her focus cut over to the table where the nerds were seated, presumably stuffing their faces with government-supplied seafood now that the groping festivities were over.

In that split second, she did a double take. Her eyes widened. "Oh."

Casey turned, quietly searching the room. "What did you see? Blosjo came back?"

"No, not that. But we don't have to worry about Bryce trying to push his little game further while we're on board."

"Yeah? Why not?"

"Come on." Sarah untied her apron and tossed it over the bar, walking around to the other side of it. "Go get Chuck and meet me somewhere quiet. Make it the library. Deck five."

"What did you see, Walker?" And what the hell had he just missed that had her in full- blown agent mode?

"It's Chuck," Sarah said. "He just flashed."

**-x-End The Odd Quadruple Chapter Six-x-**

A/N: Here we go.

I hope that you lovely folks out there had a wonderful new year's. If you live in the Midwest or Northeast, stay warm and safe.

Comments of any kind warm me! Thank you to all of those still out there and reading along.

Til next time,

-skye

28


	7. Chapter 7

**The Odd Quadruple**

**Chapter Seven**

-x-

"Are you sure this is the library?" Chuck wondered aloud, not too ashamed to goggle. He had to ask, because the Jetson-age hangar, thick with yellow backlit book shelves aligned in a demilune pattern along charcoal grey walls, did not resemble any library on Stanford's campus.

The kid looked up as he was hustled through the door. Directly over his head was a steel catwalk connecting two reading lofts surrounded by metal rails, accessed by an exposed staircase that seemed to be floating in the middle of the domed room. Most of the furniture appeared to be vintage and Danish, sleek, and the kind of stuff Ellie would ogle if she were here.

The stark space reminded Chuck exactly how the library on the Death Star _had_ to have looked.

"Uh, hello," Chuck said to the clerk behind the desk, giving a polite nod and a smile. Somebody had to appear normal or courteous, and considering the business-like state of his spy handlers, it wouldn't be one of them.

"This way," Casey said, ignoring the clerk's greeting.

"Do you have to be so rude?" Chuck whispered when he was dragged out of earshot. Apparently yes, since Casey and Sarah continued to wordlessly schlepp him along ... _somewhere_. The kid took note of the few people browsing the shelves, but other than that, they were alone, which seemed to be the reason he had been hauled down here in the first place.

A bit too forcefully, he wanted to mumble, but decided to keep his mouth shut. Despite protesting, Chuck was positive that he had been half carried, one spy attached to each arm, as he was bustled from the Gotham Lounge, raising the attention of a few curious onlookers.

Not as if Sarah or Casey cared an iota. His handlers led him down a stairwell that said Employees Only – Chuck felt compelled to point that out – then down several zigzagging hallways that felt like a maze, and finally through the double doors to the library.

"Okay, guys," he said, shuffling his feet. "You're embarrassing me just a tiny bit here. Can we ease up on the protection detail for a minute? Unless you think a warlord is going to jump out between the periodicals?"

"Move," Casey replied, and while the kid continued to drag his feet, Casey and Sarah pushed and nudged and quietly manhandled him past the curved shelves to a private alcove in one deep corner of the cavernous space.

"Can we stop now?" Chuck saw that there was no one else within twenty yards, so he pulled his arms free with a jerk. "Wow," he said, holding up a hand. "You two could use a vacation. Ever think about a cruise?"

"Sit." Not waiting, Casey pushed the kid and sat him down in one move. It let him know that any attempt at frivolity would be squelched, and he damn well better not try it again.

Chuck swallowed and looked up at them. Though the leather lounge chair he had been pushed into was plush and soft, it did irk him that his handlers remained standing, looming over him as if he was a naughty child.

"Mom. Dad," Chuck said, reading their faces before they even started. "The boogie man didn't follow us, so I think you can dial it down, okay? Sheesh."

Casey squinted at him. "You flashed. Spill, Bartowski."

"What did you see?" Sarah asked in a slightly softer manner, crossing her arms over her shirt. "What made you flash?"

Looking up at their skeptical faces, the kid wanted to groan. He used to be good at his job – maybe not great, but he could flash and relay the Intel, which was why he was still in Burbank. But with the past two flashes, he seemed to be striking out at every pitch.

"Well," Chuck began slowly, closing his eyes briefly to rub his eyelids, "I think I need to take another look at -"

"Let me see the paper Blosjo gave you," Casey interrupted. He put his hands on the chair's arms and lowered his face, making Chuck shirk backwards at the blunt impatience across his features. "Front pocket. I saw where the sleaze put it." He snapped his fingers, as in _move it, now. _

"I'm getting it ... please don't look at me like that." It was a bit nerve-racking to have a pissed-off NSA assassin breathing down his neck, but telling him that would probably not be the wisest move. So Chuck put some slouch in his posture and stretched out one long leg, giving him access to his pocket. He dug around, and after a bit of searching, he pulled out the slip of paper. "There. That's what he ... gave me."

"Heh. Sure that's all he gave you?" Casey remarked, tugging it from his hand. He looked at the writing and flipped it over. "That's it?"

"Yep."

"Did the numbers cause a flash?" Casey read it again, frowned at the handwriting. "Was it the sequence? The pattern?"

"Maybe it's a number puzzle?" Sarah asked, looking over his shoulder. "Digits for a Kakuro grid? Is there a message embedded in it?"

"Um, no," Chuck said cautiously, watching as Casey rolled his eyes and handed the slip of paper to Sarah. "Well, nothing that glamorous, since technically, in order to be a Kakuro pattern, it would need -"

"Finish that," Casey broke in, "and I'll stuff you between Hitler and Stalin. As in their biographies."

Chuck looked at the nearest book shelf and cleared his throat. "I think it's just his, well, exactly what it looks like." Stopping there, he put a hand on his knee to stop the jiggling. "His ... phone number."

"His ... number?" Sarah's brows, which nearly had their own language all unto themselves, peaked in a perfect arch as she searched his face. "He gave you his phone number – and you didn't flash on this? Chuck, I saw you flash."

"Okay, before we go any further in this little interrogation, I have a question. Where's Morgan?" Chuck lifted his eyes to meet Casey's. "What did you tell him? When he saw you _kidnap_ me ten minutes ago?"

Casey moved a shoulder. "I told him Larkin was having a panic attack about the fox trot contest, and needed his brainiac friend to take us through the paces again."

"Geez, thanks, Casey," an icy voice said from behind. Though none of them had heard even a footstep on the carpet, Bryce appeared from around one of the bookcases. "If I'm having a panic attack, it's only because I'm trying to remember how to anticipate your mistakes - so that your bear paws don't crush my toes."

"What're you doing here?" Casey asked abruptly, rounding on him. "Where's the other _pretty boy_ on board? Blosjo? God, don't tell me that you –"

"I lost him in the dance club, okay?" Bryce at least sounded as perturbed as Casey looked.

The admission made Chuck blink up in surprise, watching Bryce step in closer. It boggled that the always perfect Bryce Larkin had screwed the pooch on this one. And knowing his ex-friend, Chuck was certain admitting it had to kill him.

"Really," Casey said in an implacable voice. He then made a show of folding his bulky arms over his even bulkier chest and sauntered over to Bryce. "That's the best you could do, CIA? One little blond hair product mogul, and you couldn't keep tabs on him for more than ten minutes?"

"You forgot black market arms dealer."

"Casey. Bryce." Sarah gave her partners a disgruntled look, stepping between them. "Do you think we can put your little lover's quarrel on the backburner, and focus on Chuck's flash for a moment?"

Put like that, there was little they could say, so they ended it with a few dirty looks and turned their attention back on the kid.

Satisfied with their compliance, Sarah nodded at Chuck. "Is that all he gave you?"

"You were watching, Walker," Casey chimed in. "I'd say Blosjo gave him plenty."

"And come to think of it," Chuck grumbled, "that's when I could've used a little protection."

"Next time we'll put you in full body armor, so when you come out of the crowd, you're still a virgin," Casey quipped, holding up the paper between two fingers. "So this didn't cause the flash?"

Chuck shrugged, feeling his stomach jolt with nervousness. It might've had a little something to do with the icy stare that told him it better be good, because a decent flash was the only thing standing between John Casey and two-stepping it with Bryce Larkin under a retro disco ball tonight.

"Uh, not exactly."

Casey bent lower to get in his face. "What does _not exactly_ mean, Bartowski?"

"Casey, if you stop breathing fire through your nose at him, maybe Chuck can answer."

"Thank you, Sarah." Chuck looked up at one handler, then to the other before sprawling out his long legs and getting into the perfect slouch again. The truth was, his ploy was to buy some time, because he knew with Casey in warrior mode, nothing would appease him. "It wasn't the number," he admitted, and uncurled his fingers around a scrap of paper. "But it was this."

"What's this?" Not waiting, Casey snatched it out of his hand. When he tried to unravel it, however, he paused to give Chuck a lifted eyebrow. "It's wet."

"Sorry. My hands were ... they get slightly sweaty when I'm nervous." Chuck rubbed a palm down his shirt. "Maybe if you just give it a little flap a few times?"

Casey shook his head and flattened the scrap the best he could. While he smoothed it, Sarah and Bryce sidled up to him to look over his arms at the paper. "Looks harmless," Bryce said.

"It never is." Casey turned his blue-eyed stare on Chuck. "Care to share with the class, Bartowski? What am I looking at?"

"Well, strictly speaking?" Chuck fiddled with the hem of his shirt while he thought about it. "A man on a surfboard in the middle of riding a pretty fierce wave. Oh, and you can see it's superimposed over an empty blue room – that's odd, hum? – and a window with a storm – _guph!"_

Chuck ended it there. He decided it would be a wise idea, since Casey's hand had shot out to clamp down on his jaw.

Casey used the grip to tilt his head up. "What _else_."

"Ow?"

"I know what it is," Casey said in the rumble that usually led to more pain. "I want to know _what it means_."

"Let him go," he heard Sarah say. Chuck had to assume she delivered it with a stern expression, because he couldn't really look at her with his face in a vise. "Why don't you let Chuck tell us what he knows?"

The NSA agent must've been wildly tempted to just do it his way, by force, based upon how long it took for him to unclench each finger from Chuck's cheeks. "Speak."

Chuck tested his jaw. Happily, it still worked. "I do other tricks, too," he muttered.

It took a second to figure out how _that_ sounded. When Chuck put it together, he looked at his feet to hide the pink tinge he felt.

"You're not going to like it," Chuck confessed, though he didn't dare look at Casey. "It was more than the one yesterday – the monkey? Or the sneeze-flash?" At Casey's impatient growl, he talked faster. "It felt like a real flash this time, but it didn't give me a name or data or anything. Not ... much, anyway."

"What does that mean, _not much?" _ Casey growled.

"Just a picture of ... a building."

"A ... building?" His handlers had spoken together, both giving him questioning looks.

"Where did the piece of paper come from in the first place?" Bryce asked. "That wasn't the one Blosjo gave you."

"Wow. Thanks for that, Bryce." Chuck thought about the best way to put this as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess ... while all of us, including Morgan, were watching Blosjo check my pants size, someone else left it at the table. When I sat down, it was tucked in a napkin." He stopped to heave a breath. "After that, it was all over but the flash."

"Nice work, CIA," Casey said to Bryce.

Sarah looked up at Casey. "So while all of us were focused on the nuclear technology dealer who happens to have the hots for Chuck," she said, "someone who once thought Bryce was the Human Intersect - just left the real Intersect a picture. To make him flash?"

Uh-oh.

Right there. That was the part he knew they weren't going to like.

"I don't think we know for certain that someone is looking for the Intersect," Chuck said swiftly. "Maybe they just have a flair ... for photography?" God, that sounded lame enough for the kid to want to bury his head in his hands.

Based upon the looks his handlers shot down at him, apparently they agreed.

"I say we stuff the nerd in an underground bunker," Casey announced flatly, not even looking at him. "At least until we can determine the extent of the security breach and -"

"Whoa. Whoa." Chuck shot up from the chair and put up both hands in a stop sign gesture. "There will be no stuffing of the nerd into Beckman's Christmas stocking, okay? We don't even know what the flash meant – it could've been an accident. Didn't we cover this ground at the spa yesterday? 'The nerd stays put and catches the bad guy'. Ring any bells?"

"An accident. Puh." Casey gave a head shake at the lack of logic. "This is _you_, Bartowski."

"The spa?" Bryce turned to Sarah. "You had a meeting without me yesterday?"

"Later, Bryce," Sarah said in a way that distinctly said drop it. "Chuck, Casey has a point. Now we don't even know if it's Blosjo, or someone else. I feel like we're flying blind here."

"Et tu, Sarah?" Chuck turned to her since he would get no support from the NSA on this one. "It was a picture of someone riding a surfboard. Big deal, right?" He picked it up and studied it. "Granted, the window seems out of place."

"Needed some girly drapes for you?" Casey asked, and then he added in a curt tone, "You already said it caused a flash. It's not just a picture."

Chuck had nothing to say about that, so instead he glowered and pressed his lips together.

"Chuck, why don't you sit down - and tell us what you remember about the flash." Sarah rested a hand on the back of the chair and nodded at the seat. "Maybe there's a clue there."

The kid hunched his shoulders, quelling the surge of annoyance at being pushed around. They really had a way of making him feel like the misbehaving student in class. But after a few seconds, he obeyed, dropping into the seat while both handlers came around to face him. "Like I said, it was just a building."

"Draw it," Casey ordered.

Chuck turned his hands palm up to signal _with what_? All three spies huffed. Sarah pulled a pen out of a place the kid thought was usually reserved for blades. Meanwhile, Casey turned to a book shelf, pulled out a book, and ripped out the last page. "Here," the larger man said. "Draw."

Chuck gaped at the page and then at Casey. "Did you – you just vandalized a book that doesn't even belong to you!"

"Know what else I'm going to vandalize in about five seconds?"

He had a feeling it was more than a trick question. Casey had an aversion to riddles, it seemed.

"All righty. And here I am ... drawing the building ... drawing the building." With his head down, he used the book Casey had just desecrated as a hard surface to trace what he remembered. "It was ugly. Grey, dingy. I do know that. Maybe from the 80s – when windows were considered an architectural frivolity?"

"Less talking, more drawing, Bartowski."

Chuck slanted a look at Casey and kept drawing.

When Bryce moved in to see what was taking shape under Chuck's pen, Casey deliberately stayed where he was planted, forcing Bryce to crane his neck. "I am part of the team for this mission, aren't I?" Bryce asked stiffly.

"For the next thirty-six hours and twenty-seven minutes," Casey said, spelling it out. "Unless there's a ... tragic accident."

Bryce's lips tightened.

Immediately, Sarah played moderator by signaling he could come and stand by her to look over Chuck's shoulder. "Let's focus, boys."

"Now that I think about it," Chuck said, appraising his drawing with a squint, "it looks Russian. Like from the movie, From Russia With Love? Oh, except not the video game version, I mean the actual -"

"What the hell is he talking about?" Casey turned to Bryce. "You understand Geek-ese, don't you?"

"Just as fluent as you are in giant assho – _oof_."

The well-placed elbow to the ribs from Sarah saved the plush carpet under Bryce's feet. And Bryce, for that matter. Besides, blood stains would probably clash with the Danish modern vibe the Miracle's decorators were going for, Chuck decided.

While Bryce massaged his ribcage, Sarah leaned down to get a better look. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to the perimeter lines.

"A fence. If I remember the flash, there were different levels, though. The back was only one story tall, and there was a parking lot ... a loading dock here, I think?" Chuck held the drawing. "Not too shabby, I guess." He tilted his head at it. "The drawing I mean, not the building. That place was, frankly, a dump. So what do you think? Oh."

This was not a good sign. Chuck was positive that when he glanced up at them, each had landed on a theory. And whatever theory was currently playing out between their ears, it made three pairs of blue eyes go cool.

"Um, guys?" Chuck's gaze went from one concerned face to the next. "I can tell you're thinking something, and though I'm fairly decent at twenty questions, now is not the time. What is it?"

Well, it figured there was no response from any of them, even Sarah. Instead, they shared a knowing look among themselves until Bryce scrubbed a hand over his face. "Huh," Bryce said. "That blows."

Casey turned to Bryce and raised a brow.

Bryce shrugged. "Okay, yes, Casey. I think so, too."

"Great," Casey muttered.

"I'm not as familiar with it as you two are," Sarah said. "I've only seen pictures. But I think you're right."

He hated it when spies talked in code around him. The translation usually was _your turn to babysit the nerd_, but this time he only wished that's what it meant.

"Time out." Chuck stood and jabbed one set of fingers into the palm of the other hand. "Time _out_. Obviously, all of you know something that I don't. Do you mind telling me – what is it?"

Casey glanced over at his asset. "That's what _it_ looked like, right before Bryce gave you the gift that keeps on giving. Oh, and I don't mean the STD after your little bout of curiosity back in school."

Bryce started to open his mouth with a retort, but Chuck raised his hand to stop him. "He gets like that when he's angry," Chuck said, "which strangely enough equates to the hours he is awake – but just answer the question, Bryce."

Bryce kept his eyes on his. "It's the Intersect."

"_Was_ the Intersect," Casey corrected.

"What – but I'm ..." Chuck gave a confused look to Sarah, but the cloudiness in her eyes told him she was already considering the implications and had jumped three steps ahead of them.

It should worry him that she was frowning deeply.

"Not this one," Bryce explained, and he lifted a hand to tap Chuck's temple. "Right before it landed here ... the Intersect was in this building."

"This is the building that you blew up?" Chuck held up the drawing and glanced back at Casey. "And that's where you shot Bryce?"

"The first time, yeah," Casey answered with blandness in which someone would discuss the weather. "Until the idiot here screwed up everything, I had overall responsibility for the security of that computer. And I still do." He crossed his arms over his chest and acknowledged Sarah. "We do. Which is why we're getting the hell out of here."

"Getting out?"

"The mission's become too risky," Casey said. "Now we have proof someone knows _you're_ the Intersect – and we don't even know if it's Blosjo or some other whacko who's not on our radar. Hell, this silent partner could be anyone, anywhere, or someone not even working with him."

The rope around his middle seemed to tighten, a sharply accurate signal that nothing good was about to happen. "Can I say something here," Chuck put in quickly, raising his hand. "Being that I am the Intersect, and should have a say in -"

"No," Casey and Sarah interrupted in unison. Neither agent bothered to spare him a glance. Each seemed to be formulating a plan, or who knew, maybe the same plan, and whatever it was, the kid got the distinct sensation of the walls inching in.

Sarah's brows scrunched together. "Even if we –"

"No, no, no." At that point, Chuck braced himself before he pointed at Sarah and Casey. "It would only be fair, since I think that within the next – oh, let's say sixty seconds – you're going to be making decisions that will affect me."

Casey snorted at him and then turned to Sarah. "When the doofus didn't flash yesterday," he said, "someone saw him take the picture to Chuck. Out on the pool deck."

It took Chuck a few seconds to realize that the doofus in this scenario was Bryce, and not him. Not that it made the situation much better, but it felt good to hand off that mantle for once.

"Just proves that they got too close this time," Casey went on. "And proved how easy it is to navigate around the CIA."

"Hey, this is not my fault," Bryce argued. "He didn't flash until we were in private yesterday. Right, Sarah?"

"You." Casey brought up a thick finger and stabbed it in his direction. "Stay out of this."

"Bryce has a minor point there, Casey," Sarah conceded, "but I'm sure it aroused suspicion."

"Damn right it did," Casey said, sending a murderous glare Bryce's way. "Enough suspicion for whoever is looking for the Intersect to run a little test on Chuck. Might as well have been a Goddamn flare, Larkin." He waved a hand in the air over Chuck's head. "Here's the Intersect. Come and get him!"

Knowing he was stepping out onto thin ice, Chuck raised his hand to speak. "I still say I should have a vote here, Intersect guy and all?"

"Too bad for you, this is a dictatorship." With a disapproving grunt, Casey tossed the paper at Bryce and took Chuck by the arm. "Let's go. Move it."

"What? Why?" Chuck pulled back. "I already explained last night why we can't do that! Morgan for one."

"Casey's right," Sarah told him. "We knew this was a risk, but now it's too dangerous. We'll ... come up with something, okay?"

Even Sarah, forever the steady one, had a hard time keeping her voice light and assured by the time she furrowed her forehead at him. He could almost hear the game ending buzzer in his head.

Still, if ever there was a time to dig the heels in before being carted off somewhere, now was it – and boy, he had to get rid of this defeatist attitude at some point.

"Okay, that's it," Chuck said, then straightened up and squared his shoulders. "You're going to listen to me." As Casey raised a brow at the disobedient tone, the kid had to dig deep for bravery – since there was a chance it was his last act on board the ship. "Everything I told you last night? It still holds. I'm not letting this scare _us_ away. So, it got a little murkier. I get it. Are you going to run? Casey? Because I'm not letting a criminal mastermind sell nuclear technology to a nutcase!"

"Keep your damn voice down," Casey said.

"And I'm _not_ going to be able to explain this to my best friend, which means – I don't even want to think of those implications right now, okay?" Chuck snatched the paper from Bryce and stuck it in his pocket, because he really didn't want that taunting him. "Guys, I want to remind you, I have the three best spies we have watching over me. And despite the fact I have a hunch I won't even be able to go the rest room without supervision, we need to stay here, stop Blosjo – and whoever else he's working with."

"Where's this bravery coming from, Bartowski?" Casey wanted to know. "Usually weapons dealers have you running like a little girl."

Not letting Casey get to him, Chuck returned the insult with a level look. "Because I know what the alternatives are," he said, doing everything he could to keep resolute. "For Blosjo ... if he's able to sell the technology? And if I can be selfish for a minute, we all know what Beckman will do if we don't find the person ... who knows my secret, all right? We have until the ship docks to do that."

"Chuck, we would try to convince Beckman -"

"Sarah." Chuck faced her, swallowed. "I can't take that chance. You have no idea how much it would kill Ellie to have ... her brother – her only family member – just suddenly disappear."

Hot pinpricks of nerves traveled over his neck as he tried to push the thought to the side. It sickened him to think about it. That couldn't happen.

Sarah and Casey regarded him for a good long time before they exchanged a glance. If Chuck wasn't ready to crap his khakis, he'd be impressed at how good they were getting at communicating without talking.

"I'll run it up the flagpole with Beckman," Casey finally said.

"Thank you," Chuck said, using the chair to hide the fact his knees had turned to water.

Casey nodded. "The rest of you, get back to the troll." He turned to Chuck. "Think you can do that without getting kidnapped or groped, or do we need to install an alarm in your britches?"

-x-

An hour later, while he and Morgan polished off rib eye steaks and a bottle of Cabernet – they were staying in the Grande Vista Suite, after all, Chuck figured, so they had to sell it – Chuck felt his phone vibrate.

'_Beckman says we stay put. Target rich environment on board too risky to take a pass'_

Chuck breathed out a sigh of relief.

"What is it, man?" Morgan asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just Ellie." His mind scrambled for an explanation. "She approves of the sweater I bought for Awesome for Christmas. No returns necessary."

"You never showed it to me."

Note to self. Go buy a damn sweater at the gift shop.

"I packed it away – hey, how are the love birds doing?" Chuck tipped his head to the side in the direction of their table, over his right shoulder. "Any signs of stage fright?"

"Not unless you count the way Casey practiced dipping Bryce when they were in the shallow pool. Wow." Morgan turned his attention to Chuck. "Are you sure they don't have issues?"

"Just nerves." Chuck smiled weakly, but when Morgan reached for his glass, the kid quickly shot off a text.

_He's still suspicious. _

The next one went to Bryce.

_Do something! _

Then to both of them,

_The next call is to Sarah._

A half minute later, Morgan looked past Chuck's shoulder. Whatever he saw, it made his eyes widen. "Ahem. They just got their dinners ... and I see Casey has been cured of his intense fear of PDA."

"He ... has?" _Don't turn around don't turn around._

Morgan picked up his wine glass and gave it a little swirl. "Yep. He didn't even flinch, which is good for him, considering what just happened."

"I ... did something happened?"

"Dude!" Morgan leaned forward and whispered with glee, "Bryce just kissed Casey on the cheek. Maybe they are turning things around!"

"Oh." So, God help him, if Sarah wasn't at the bar and didn't get a picture of that. "How did Casey take it?"

_Shoot him on the spot and call for clean-up at table 67?_

"I don't know," Morgan said. "He looked like he was in a hurry to get to the bathroom."

-x-

Chuck waited for Casey to stalk out of the Gotham Lounge. It would be just a matter of seconds before he shot Morgan.

Looking over his shoulder, he sped up his pace, amazed that Morgan had out distanced him. "Buddy, you might want to go a little easy on the excessive jubilation," Chuck said, catching up to his friend.

"Excessive? Did you see the two of them?" Now there was unwarranted hand waving. "They were Astaire and Rodgers! Baryshnikov and – and the girl with the pointy shoes! Travolta and Newton-John! "

"Morgan, buddy, you're going to want to keep your voice down, or Casey –"

"And _Casey!_ John Casey, the biggest, baddest, hairiest, hard ass I know!" Morgan motioned excitedly with the gold-wreathed loving cup trophy. "Who knew –"

"We should get going –"

"- that he could dance like he has feathers for feet! Did you see him, the way he held Bryce over his head and spun him like a _freaking_ pinwheel!" Morgan shook his head in disbelief. "It was awesome, man!"

"Oh, God."

"It was as if those steel-like legs had the precision of a piston!"

More like a pistol. "Okay, technically, it was only third place," Chuck had to remind him. He turned around to dart a look down the hallway. "Have you seen Bryce and Casey?"

"Nah." Morgan gave him a _pshaw_ hand motion. "Those two love birds? They probably went straight to their room by now." He waggled the trophy. "Those kids were so excited, they forgot this! How do you think it would look in the Buy More break room?"

Chuck nodded at the brunette barmaid passing by, who seemed to be grinning at the suggestion. Fortunately, Morgan was too euphoric with the trophy and the pending late night buffet to notice any strikingly similarities with Chuck's leggy ex-fake girlfriend.

"Come on, Chuck! Let's surprise them by dropping it off at their room!"

As Morgan scampered down the hall, the nerd let his shoulders sag in relief. One mission, at least, had been accomplished tonight. Morgan was finally sold on the idea of the happy couple, despite the fact they were destined to become a very unhappy couple as soon as the ship docked.

Not to mention, he had enough digital black mail to last a lifetime. Chips to cash in for years to come - except for one pesky detail. Casey would cut him up, sauté what little meat he had on his body, and feed him to the stray cats in Ellie's neighborhood.

-x-

Over the past hour, the sound of the elevator had kept him awake with its periodic chime, letting the late night partiers off on their floor. If it wasn't that, it was the constant movement and sound of water, or even the winds that had picked up, gently rattling the two deck chairs on their balcony.

Who was he kidding?

Were they serious about taking him away _somewhere_? Secret? Away from Ellie and Morgan?

What if they didn't catch the person looking for the Intersect before docking? If that happened, there was a chance Chuck had already spent his last Christmas with his sister. In his normal life, with his normal job, and friends he could count on. It was confusing, but to be fair, he did consider Sarah and Casey in that category by now. Would they betray him? Or their country?

This thought process wasn't exactly a natural sleeping pill.

Spending another minute staring at the ceiling, Chuck glanced over at his friend who was sound asleep, and rolled over on his side. Two fifty-eight, the clock read.

He tucked his hand under the pillow and stretched his legs. In some corner of his mind, he had to have faith in Sarah and Casey, right? That they wouldn't let the government just swoop in and take him without giving Beckman and Graham pushback on the idea. Neither of them could stop their bosses if it did come down to it, but they could be very persuasive, he knew that much.

Chuck, by now, had to bank on one thing to keep him out of lock-up. He had to trust his handlers, that they would protect him, but more than that. He had a little bit of hope that they actually liked him.

When his cell phone vibrated, he dug the heel of his hand into his eyes and looked over to the night table. Who would be texting him at 3 a.m.? The only person who ever did that was currently lying next to him. Careful not to awaken his friend, Chuck reached over and grabbed his phone. He had to blink a few times to focus.

Casey?

More blinking.

_One more thing I didn't mention came out of Beckman's briefing. Affects you directly._

If there were any other words that Chuck never wanted to see strung together, at the moment he couldn't think of them. Feeling a rash of heat climb up his midsection, he thumbed,

_Why are you awake?_

Chuck could almost hear the growl of displeasure when the next text hit.

_Do you really think I can sleep with that sound? Like a damn jet taking off._

With his lip curling into a half smile, Chuck replied,

_If you roll him on his side, or pinch his nostrils, he'll stop. _

The answer came in a jiffy.

_I don't touch other person's nostrils unless I'm checking to make sure they're not breathing anymore. So are you done evading the topic?_

Just the thought of it was going to keep him up for another hour, the kid guessed.

_Do I have a choice? Because I'd rather just plead TMI and never know what leaks through Beckman's mind._

There was a longer than usual pause before the reply came back as simply,

_?_

Chuck rolled his eyes.

_Never mind_, he swiped. _Not that I want to know, but what affects me? Besides the usual bombs, knives, and threats of death, I mean._

_Beckman decided that the opportunity with Blosjo was too good to pass up._

Of course she would. This was the one time Chuck was thankful she was on the good guy's side, because they needed a little bloodsucking red-headed demon from hell when it came to apprehending the bad guys.

Chuck sighed.

_You already told me this. Can I try to get some sleep now?_

_Last thing. The 'opportunity' Beckman referred to was Blosjo's interest in a certain tall, dark, and nerdy guy. She wants you to call him._

Chuck's jaw hinged open, because certainly Beckman didn't suggest he flirt with a technological weapons dealer.

The words on the screen didn't change.

_Are you kidding me! I can't call a man who day dreams about seeing the Eastern seaboard eliminated! No Under no circumstances is this going to happen. _

Maybe it was an auditory deception, but he swore he heard a deep chuckle reverberate from Deck 4.

_Your turn to get on your dancing shoes, kid. You have a hot date tomorrow night._

Chuck scowled at his phone, wishing Casey was there to see the combination of defiance and _hell no_ painted on his face. Then came a jolt of apprehension, because Casey and Sarah would make him do it for the good of mankind, and because it was an order.

Finally, he just had to get it out there.

_You are petty and horrible, and I hate you right now for that smile I know is on your face. _

_Nighty night, princess. Get your beauty rest. Making goo-goo eyes at a nuclear black arms dealer is gonna take your A game. _

-x-

"Casey," Chuck hissed, rapping his knuckles on his cabin door. "Open up!" It was before eight a.m., and he was trying to be polite. On the other hand, Casey had to open the door _this damn minute _or –

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" While Chuck's head snapped up, Casey snatched his arm and yanked before the kid could think to back up a step. "Get in here."

"I need to talk to you."

"Does stay in your room until Bryce or I swing by for the breakfast buffet mean something different in nerd?" Casey peered down the hallway one way and then the other before shutting the door behind him. "Or did you hear me, and just make the decision to be insubordinate anyway."

"Well ..." When he put it like that, there really was no good answer. "This couldn't wait."

"Morning, Chuck," Bryce said, sleep thick in his voice. Even with the early wake-up call, complete with the scruffy look and pillow hair, he still looked almost perfect. It gave Chuck a snapshot vision of the same phenomena occurring back in college. Back then, they were in the same bed, and he had no recollection of actually being bothered by Bryce's ability to look good regardless of the time of day.

But that was another heaping of self-doubt, and the kid didn't need more – he had plenty, thank you - so he didn't make eye contact when he spoke. "Hey ... Bryce."

"Ah, hell." Casey stood and stretched his back, and that was when Chuck finally took a look at him and noticed the pajama bottoms. "Now that we have the morning pleasantries out of the way, is there a reason you barked at the door?"

"Are those ... tiny snowflakes?"

"They're from his mother," Bryce disclosed. "Don't bring it up or he'll threaten to remove your legs."

"And are you wearing ..." Warily, Chuck eyed Bryce's sleep t-shirt. "Is that ... Rudolph?"

Bryce looked down as if he had forgotten about the shirt, and covered it by putting his arms in front of him. "Casey made me buy it."

"Festive." Chuck titled his head at them. "Wow. I didn't know I was missing so much fun down here in The Hold."

"The Hold?" Casey asked, picking up his duffle and tossing it on the bed. "Do I want to know?"

"Sorry," Chuck said, looking around the cabin. "That's ... kind of what Morgan and I have been calling any deck beneath ours."

"Is the moron still sleeping?"

"I guess." Chuck bit his lip, feeling the beginning of his stomach flutters kick in. "Morgan hasn't had any trouble sleeping. But then again, he's not being forced to flirt with one of the FBI's most wanted nut jobs tonight."

"You'll be fine," Casey told him. "Just try to comb your hair and stand up straight. Make him think you're not a lesbian, eh?"

"A les - _Fine?"_ Chuck gasped, eyes widening. "Did you see his hands! I felt like I had stumbled into the sick bay and got a free physical! He almost asked me to cough!"

Casey rolled his eyes and went back to digging out his clothes for the day. "Obviously, our little comrade has a craving for some nerd meat. You just get in there, smile ... be friendly - use some of that nerd charm - and find out anything you can. Piece of cake."

"Piece of ...?" It took a moment for Chuck to find his voice. Why on earth did the government think so? Was there any trace of history in his background that told them he knew the first thing about toying with a mad man?

Wait. He had _nerd charm_? And _Casey_ thought so?

"Turn around," Casey said. "I'm taking you back up to your room before the troll wakes up."

"Are you insane?" Chuck finally managed, still slack jawed at the prospect of fake flirting with a real criminal. "No, I'm asking seriously, is the government _insane!_ I can't do this!"

"Why the hell not?"

"For one, I'm not trained in seduction. Hell, until a month ago, I hadn't been out on a date in five years. _Five_." Chuck spread his fingers and waved a hand, on the notion they needed help with counting that high. "I've never asked anyone for a phone number. I've only had one girlfriend ... and one ... well, you know." Now he waved vaguely at Bryce, not daring to look at him, while his cheeks went crimson. "Er, roommate."

"Roommate. Heh." Casey, ready to take advantage of the opening, turned to smirk at Bryce. "Did Bartowski ever get the license plate of the hit and run?"

"It's a little early for your humor, Casey," Bryce said. "Why don't you try it out on us ... well, let's say, never."

"Just tire tracks, eh?" Casey elbowed him out of the way. "Need a shirt. Then I'm getting you back to your room before –"

"I can't do it," Chuck announced, folding his arms over his chest with a good deal of obstinance. "I have to back out of the mission tonight. That's what I came down here to say."

"No," Casey said easily, unzipping his bag.

"No?" The kid pushed a hand through his hair, frustration swelling while he watched Casey yank out a shirt. In the back of his mind, Chuck wondered if there were any black polo shirts left in the greater Burbank area, or were they all in that duffle. "You didn't even hear me out! What about this: what if this is a set-up? Did it occur to the higher-ups that maybe this guy is interested in the _Intersect?_ And not me?"

"Yep." The NSA agent pulled his sleep shirt over his head, unaware of the way his tightly defined and thick arms swelled, muscles rippling as his shoulders bunched up. One look and Chuck was immediately reminded why he should really never piss off John Casey.

"And?" the kid said, now looking up at the ceiling.

"Still going, Bartowski."

"I thought ... wait, what about Lou?" It was grasping at a straw, but he had to try. "The broken phone girl?"

"What about her?" Casey zipped his duffle.

"Who's Lou?" Bryce asked.

"A brunette piece of tail that came sniffing around the Buy More," Casey said over his shoulder to Bryce before turning to Chuck. "What about her?"

"First," Chuck said, "I find your terminology towards women rather offensive."

"God," Casey grumbled, and he shrugged on his black polo, pulling it over his chest. "Did I offend you, Bartowski?"

"Hah." Chuck narrowed his eyes at him until he realized it made him look like he was checking him out. "Let me give the government a little reminder of the Intersect's Dating Policy." His hands flew up to make air quotes. "'Potential partners must endure a rigorous vetting process to determine motivation'? Wherein leading to immediate rejection, based upon -"

"This isn't a potential partner," Casey broke in. "Unless you decided you liked his _handiwork_ after all?"

Chuck lifted his chin, and even while the thought of defying Casey made him want to flee, he said, "No ... and no to dating him."

"Did you say no?"

Chuck felt another 'uh-oh' coming, but he wet his throat and maintained eye contact.

"Huh." Casey put on a sarcastic smile at the challenge, and tucked his thumbs in his pocket. At once, he moved in, and the deliberate stalking, even in such a small space, was enough to make Chuck round the bed. "Listen up, Intersect," he growled. "You _are_ going to meet Blosjo at the bar tonight. You _are_ going to sell the idea that you're interested in him."

"But I –"

"And if it's going to take some sweet nerd meat to get him talking, then that's what we're giving him," Casey barreled on, his face mere inches away. "Are you getting this down, Bartowski, or do I have to write your lines on your palm like an eighth grader so that you say it the way he wants to hear it?"

"You see, that's the problem, because I'm ... not ..." Chuck felt the blood rush out of his face as Casey stared him down, and backing up, the nerd didn't stop until he bumped into Bryce. "I really ... can't."

"Can't what?" Casey demanded.

"Can't ... flirt," Chuck stammered, feeling the stubbornness from a minute ago wane under the stone-cold glare. "We have to call it off."

Casey pushed his jaw out and eyed him. "How the hell you are not still a virgin is beyond anyone's comprehension."

"He's not," Bryce cut in, though who the heck had asked his opinion?

Chuck shot a sour look over his shoulder. "Thanks for the clarification, buddy."

"Besides, you dated that ass hat behind you for two years," Casey said, and to say that he was enjoying his discomfort was a vast understatement. "You must know how to flirt to get someone with hair like that to notice you."

Somewhere in there, Chuck was certain there was an insult to his own unruly curls, but he let it slide. "It wasn't ... that way."

"He's right." Bryce, to his credit, jumped in to save him. "Chuck doesn't know the first thing about flirting."

"Yeah?" Casey's wide smirk broadened. "Then what worked on you, Larkin? I thought you would've made him jump through a few hoops."

The insult wasn't quite as veiled that time. But really, could he argue? The man behind him was freaking Bryce Larkin; he had charm, the honed body of a gymnast, and looks that caused both men and women to bump into walls.

It was quite obvious that being Chuck Bartowski meant that, on paper at least, he shouldn't have had a shot at someone like him.

"This was a bad idea," Chuck said. He looked away shyly and tried to get past Casey - which was the same as scaling a brick wall, except the wall didn't bounce him backwards when he tried to escape. "Can I go?"

"No hoops," Bryce admitted, pulling the Reindeer shirt over his head. Chuck wanted to clean out his ears, because he swore Bryce sounded dismayed right then. "The truth is, though it's none of your business, I was the one who went after him."

It was one thing, out of many, about Bryce Larkin that Chuck would never understand. Why him. But the revelation only fanned Chuck's blush. "If you don't mind, I'm taking this exit." He pivoted around to walk over the bed. "Oh, and don't worry, my shoes are clean, I prom -"

"Nuh-uh." Without missing a beat, Casey simply took his arm and pulled him back. "I want to hear this."

Chuck looked down at his sleeve, and deciding he wanted to keep that arm intact, he didn't try to twist loose. "Well, I've heard it already, so are we done here? I have to get back upstairs."

"Don't know why I should be surprised," Casey sneered to Bryce, not even glancing at the kid. He didn't let go however, which made Chuck's stomach begin its own rendition of the fox trot. "So you admit the nerd got under your skin?"

Bryce was doing his best not to say something right back at him. What, Chuck had no idea. But if the way Casey's neck turned red was any barometer, the NSA agent had an inkling - and didn't care for the insinuation.

"No, what I'm saying," Bryce responded, "is that Chuck's contribution to the flirting between us was only the way he smiled. And ... maybe that fidgeting thing he does." His eyes cut over to Chuck, and with sweat pooling under his shirt, the kid really was beginning to feel like the package of Grade A ground nerd meat that they both seemed to think he was. "That was all it took."

Casey raised a brow at Bryce, and then to Chuck.

"Um, I should really go now," Chuck said, trying to determine the nearest escape route that didn't involve diving between Casey's legs. "I thought that maybe I could get a little Team Bartowski support on this one, but you know what? Morgan has some moves himself for a little guy, and if I need a quick tutorial on how to flirt, well, I guess that's where I should've started."

"The moron?" The shock alone was enough for Casey to loosen his grip for a moment.

"See you at breakfast," Chuck said in a hurry, using the opportunity to jerk his arm free and scramble over the bed. Tensing, he prepared to bound off the end and get to the door. "We'll save a table close to the buffet - _whoa_."

As Chuck's feet landed on the carpet, he slammed into Casey's chest and bounced off of Bryce's hip. A shoulder to shoulder spy wall rose from the floor with the speed and might of Thor's hammer.

"Sit down," Casey muttered, merely giving the kid one small push on his chest.

Chuck staggered backwards, his butt landing on the mattress with a hard thump and making the bed jolt against the wall. "Fine," he said, frowning up at them, "I guess I'll just sit here."

As one, Bryce and Casey, standing side by side in front of the door, studied him with various degrees of exasperation.

Uh-oh. Why did he suddenly feel like a lab rat?

"Oh, hell," Casey said, looking down his nose at the nerd. "Not going to be easy."

"I – I said I would agree to this little charade tonight," Chuck pointed out, careful to keep the scowl off his face. "Granted, under protest, but still. So can you two move?"

"What Casey means," Bryce said, and he put on a cocky grin that Chuck found incredibly confusing. "The twenty minute tutorial on inducement of enemy personnel will have to suffice."

"Inducement of _what now?"_ Chuck tried to shoot to his feet, but his handler took care of that with another poke in the chest.

"Suck it up, Bartowski," Casey answered gruffly. "Class is now in session."

**-x-End Chapter Seven The Odd Quadruple-x- **

So I had to torture Casey further by having to watch Bryce give lessons to Chuck. Why, no, I have no boundaries, why do you ask?

I'm excited about the next few chapters – hang in there! I love to hear from you, and adore feedback of any kind.

You guys rock, simply put.

Til next time,

-skye

23


	8. Chapter 8

**The Odd Quadruple**

**Chapter Eight**

-x-

"Did you say ... class?"

"Sit up straight," Casey said, already getting started by muttering something under his breath. "Look at one of us, for Christ sakes. Try to make eye contact."

Oh, dear God.

Just the thought of seduction training was enough to make his head hurt. But the insinuation that he was about to endure this insane exercise at the hands of his '_you're just going through a college phase'_ fling, with assistance from his current secret infatuation?

Well, that just had him snapping to his feet.

"I can't do this!"

"And don't even think of getting up again." Casey's slight yet offensive poke ensured he stayed put. "This is the _one_ time Larkin is right. You're not leaving until I know you can get the blond dick head convinced that you want him to take you to his suite. And," he went on with a smirk, "that you're willing to let him give you that body cavity search he started last night."

"Body – _what now?" _Chuck gaped. "You're going to _let_ him –" Incapable of verbalizing that, he made a vulgar hand signal while trying to get to his feet again. "No way. Nuh-uh."

This time, the slam downward carried a little more force. "If you do your job," Casey said, "it won't get that far."

Chuck hunkered down, hoping he could still find a way to slip past the wall of a man. "Let me get this straight. My job – besides the _nifty_ one I already have, being the Intersect and all – is to convince him ... that I want ... him?"

"Yep."

The kid looked from one spy to the other. Neither was laughing. "Are you _insane?_ He wants to sell nuclear technology to someone who thinks half the population of the Earth is redundant! I – can't even look at Blosjo without wanting to -"

"Being that you're going to get cozy with him," Casey cut in, "you might want to practice calling him David."

Chuck gave him the stink-eye. "Why me? Why not ... _Bryce. _Look at him!" Desperate to get the attention off himself, Chuck flapped a hand at the insanely good-looking man, bringing to mind a game show host pulling back a curtain to reveal the contestant's new car. "He's ... _Bryce Larkin_. What man or woman would not want him – instead of me!"

"Chuck, you're going to be fine." That devilish smile, the one the kid learned long ago not to trust, blossomed on Bryce's face. "This is exactly how you used to get before Degler's exams, and we worked through that, didn't we?"

Chuck's head shot up. The two times they had 'worked through that' before those ball breaking exams was completely off the table, and Bryce had better not be insinuating that they would give it the old college try.

As luck would have it, he noticed the way Bryce's mouth twitched, a dead giveaway that he had been thinking the same thing. For that, Chuck hated him even more.

"I wasn't referring to ... other proven methods," Bryce said.

"That's good, because ... well, just no ..."

Next to him, Casey gave an unreadable look, and at once he seemed angry about something. More than usual. Chuck wondered what he had done already to screw up. Typically, they had to get started before that happened.

"What I _meant_ was preparing you for tonight," Bryce explained. "You can do this. Obviously, he's attracted to you, not me. I was standing right there at the bar, wasn't I? He could've gone after me, but he didn't, right?"

"Maybe he's horribly nearsighted and left his glasses in his room. Did you think of that?"

"He's into you. Not me."

Chuck heaved a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. "Sure, this is believable," he said, hearing his own bitterness. "But I know that you're going to keep me here until we do this, so let's get it over with."

"Good. Seduction 101. Let's get started." Bryce sat next to Chuck, the bed shifting under his weight. He turned to the side in order to look him in the eye, and the kid quickly moved his knees when they brushed. "Remember, just be yourself. That's what got his attention."

"Heh," Casey broke in. "That and your backside, considering how many fingerprints we could dust off of it."

Bryce looked up at him disapprovingly. "No comments from the audience," he warned, and swiveled back to Chuck again. "Ignore him. He probably wants to learn something, too."

"Like I need to?" Casey gave another grunt, which Chuck recognized as one part skeptical, and one part 'continue that train of thought and I'll kick your ass'.

Maybe sharing a bed with Casey for four nights was helping Bryce with his Casey Translations, because Bryce seemed to pick up on that one. Prudently, he didn't push it.

"Rest your arms, Chuck. You're tense," Bryce said.

It was just like college, Chuck thought, twiddling with the edge of the blanket. Bryce giving him pointers on what he wanted from him.

"Okay, there," the kid said. "Relaxed. Now how do I get ... David to think I'm into him when I'm really ready to either punch him in the nose or wet my pants?"

"Hopefully you're leaning more towards the first one, Bartowski."

"Casey? Do you mind?" Bryce raised his head from his current student, undeterred. "I'm in the middle of a lesson here."

Casey shrugged.

"All right." Bryce refocused on his target, satisfied that he had kept Casey at bay for now. "Chuck, he's a criminal mastermind, which means he feels as if he must always be in control. Of every situation and everyone. When the time is right, he's going to want to make sure he has you under his control."

"But how is he going to do that?"

"He's going to test you. We already know he's quite ... hands on in his approach ..."

"Oh, God."

"And I think he's going to push it. He's going to determine how willing you are to let him test the boundaries."

"When – when is he going to do that?"

"Right away," Bryce said, and he shifted on the mattress a bit closer. "This kind of man is decisive, and he doesn't want to waste his time with another man who doesn't have the same end game in mind."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Chuck said, "but what objective are we referring to here?"

"To get your lanky butt in the sack tonight, tiger." Casey leaned down, giving the kid a view into an amused sea of blue. "What Bryce is trying to say is he's going to grope you like a ripe melon, make sure you're receptive to said groping, and haul you up his room for a midnight buffet," he said. "You did pack protection?"

"That's it. Very funny." Chuck got to his feet. Why the hell had he let Bryce talk him into this? "Up until this point, I've been willing to do what my country has asked, but -"

"Easy, Chuck." With a grip more firm than he remembered, Bryce took his arm and hauled him back down. Was it an accident that now they were touching along the length of their thighs? "He's only trying to get you riled up -"

"Worked, too," Casey noted, smiling at how easy it was.

"Do we have to do this?" Chuck asked Bryce. At the same time, he discreetly shifted, hoping to put an inch or two between them, because this was too damn close.

"Yes, we do." Bryce readjusted to close the gap, like he always did. His hand landed on the mattress behind Chuck, skimmed around his hip, and kept him where he was. "Do you think I didn't notice?"

Chuck frowned, staying put. "This isn't exactly comfortable."

"You only have to pretend. Don't listen to Casey - it won't go that far," Bryce assured him. "By then, you'll be in his room, you'll know who his connection is -"

"Really?" Chuck felt his hands tightening into fists. "How am I going to do that?"

"Well, for one, you'll be ... friendly with him."

"God, I hate this plan."

"He'll see you as someone on the outside – an innocent," Bryce said. "And sometimes these guys like to talk a little, brag up their lives without giving away much. Maybe he'll open up to you, mention a partner's name, or another associate. A past deal?"

"But we don't know for certain." Chuck felt his stomach give a lurch. "Anything, really."

"We never do," Casey said, becoming more serious. "Until we get closer. That's your job."

Bryce glanced up at Casey. "These guys are never alone, so you'll unquestionably be within range of flashing on someone or something with him."

"Um ..." Chuck turned to Bryce and sighed. "How can we do this ... without me having to go to his room?"

"It's the prime target. Something there could trigger a flash."

"But if it doesn't? How do I get out of there?"

Wait a damn minute. Was that ... Bryce's _hand_ on his waistband? What the hell, Bryce?

"It won't be an issue." Bryce's smile was easy, confident. "Trust us."

Did Bryce Larkin just have the audacity to say that? Stiffening, Chuck made another attempt to put a few inches between them.

Something tightened to keep him there.

Yep, definitely his hand.

"We'll take care of that," Casey said. "You'll be wired. If it's a bust – which it better not be," and he stopped to glare at Chuck's forehead in about the spot he figured the Intersect had set up camp, "there'll be a disruption on board to clear the rooms."

"I don't want to know, do I?"

Casey lifted a shoulder in a way that said _not worth my breath._

"Are we done now?" Chuck stammered, since the way Bryce was touching him on the back was much too familiar. Sweat had begun to trickle down his ribcage in a very unpleasant way. He moved his shoulder to try and shrug him off, because after putting him through hell, he didn't need the torment. _Thanks anyway, Bryce_.

Bryce shook his head, pausing to study him. "Hardly," he observed. "You do know what you're doing, don't you?"

"Uh, no?" Unless you count trying to escape from the hand giving a slow glide over his spine?

"You used to like it." Though he was trying to be serious, Chuck could see that Bryce's eyes were tinged with mischief as he did _it _again. "In fact, if I remember correctly, you even reciprocated if I managed to get a few tequila shots in you."

"Spare me the lovey-dovey crap." Casey's face hardened. "I don't want to hear about Bryce's secret potion to get your pants off, Bartowski." He then squinted at Bryce. "What are you getting at, Larkin?"

Okay, that confirmed Casey had indeed observed Bryce's _hand_iwork. The real question was this: was it Chuck's imagination, or was Casey really getting angrier by watching the pawing of his asset's assets?

When did it become Casey's job to protect him from being fondled by another man? Or Bryce, as the case may be?

Chuck's throat dried up at the next thought. Was there a chance that maybe Casey didn't ... hate him?

"Oh, God," the nerd said, not meaning to say it aloud. Casey's acting as if ... no. Not possible, and it was just his already over active imagination taking a ride on Space Mountain.

"What? Bryce and Casey said together.

"No - nothing." Chuck hurriedly looked down at his tracker watch. "You know, Morgan's going to be looking for – _oof_."

Apparently this time, it was Casey's turn to push him back down. Figures that torturing him would be the one time they would be cooperating with each other.

Rubbing his shoulder, Chuck scowled up at him. Maybe that was a mistake a minute ago. Maybe Casey did hate him. "You have a way with words, you know that?"

"Ignoring yours always works," Casey answered. "We'll let you know when you've graduated, sport."

"What I was getting at a minute ago," Bryce said - and did he just move his hand up to his shoulder, giving him a little massage? "Is this. You don't even know you're doing it, am I right? But every time I touch you, you're – well –"

"_Ah_."

Chuck jolted at the feel of a hand – a very warm hand – cupping the back of his neck, then dropping to scrub leisurely over his shoulder blades. Enough. That's where he had to draw the line, Chuck decided, rounding on him.

"Bryce ... do you have to ...?" _Be an asshole about this? _

"See? That's what I was talking about. He flinches." Bryce studied him thoughtfully and huffed. "You can't do that, Chuck. When Blosjo touches you, you can't react as if you've been poked with a cattle prod. That could be considered the antithesis of flirting, don't you think?"

The kid hastened to point out something that should've been obvious to the two trained superspies. "It's not that," he mumbled. Looking from one puzzled face to the other, Chuck leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, which at least got Bryce to finally remove his hand. "I can't do this. I -"

"Can't?" Casey interrupted, sounding like his last bit of patience had dribbled away. "Listen up, moron. We don't have a choice here. We are going to do whatever it takes to get you ready for this." He lowered his stern face, looking straight into Chuck's startled expression. "And if it means I have to tie you down to let Bryce cop feels until you stop flinching, then I will."

"_What?"_ Chuck's jaw dropped. The horrible image seeping into his brain would need to be flushed out with Draino. At least a couple dozen times. "That's not what I agreed to!"

Pleased that he had struck a nerve, Casey, of course, struck again. "It'd be like your own version of SERE training, Intersect."

"I don't even want to know what that is," Chuck interjected at light speed. "Your last little taste of Navy Seal physical conditioning is still giving me nightmares."

"It means Survival, Evasion, Resistance & Escape," Casey explained, brushing off the fact that Chuck specifically asked him not to. "Like you, Special Forces trainees have to withstand extreme torture in planned scenarios -"

"Extreme?"

"- and this qualifies." He raised a brow at Bryce, which surprisingly put a stop to him opening his mouth to argue. "Besides, it might be good for the Intersect to have more skills than tripping and screaming."

Chuck sat up taller and gave him a dirty look, letting Casey know the extra commentary was not welcome.

In ways he could barely express, there was something else unwelcome starting up again. As Chuck straightened, he felt Bryce's hand travel down the center of his back, making teasing little circles. _Testing_ him.

"I have an idea." Chuck squirmed to the side to get out of reach. "Let's just keep it at a handshake, shall we?" he said with finality.

"I'll be damned." Casey's laughter bubbled up from his chest. "What do you know? The Great Bryce Larkin strikes out." He flashed his phone in front of Bryce's face. "I could give Beckman a call and find out if there are any seats left in Remedial Inducement 101for you. You could sit next to Bartowski."

"Hey, keep me out of this little thing you two have going, okay?" Chuck said, raising a palm.

"Just don't _touch_ him, Larkin," Casey added gleefully, ignoring the kid. "Though we all know he liked it before, he seems to get a case of the willies at thought of collecting _your_ fingerprints on his ass."

Bryce's head cut up to give him a black look. "Thanks, Casey."

"Glad this amuses you, too," Chuck grumbled, and wiped his palms down his pant leg. "But Casey ... does have a point about ... this."

"What's that?" Bryce asked.

Oh, come on. Bryce was smart, after all - nearly a freaking genius - and the last thing Chuck felt he should have to do is spell it out for him.

"Well, it's simple, really," Chuck said, and finally just brushed Bryce's hand away. "Although I appreciate all of your efforts to get me past this" - _you jerk!_ – "what I meant, and I should say no offense, is I can't do this ... _with you."_

Bryce had the nerve to look at a loss by that. "Me?" Still testing him, there was a touch of a hand passing over Chuck's middle, drifting down to his waist. "That bothers you when I do this?"

"Gah." Chuck lurched, batting them away. Hell yes, it did!

"With _me_, hm?"

"Yes, with _you_." Chuck wagged a hand in Bryce's direction, barely looking at him. "Now can we please not -"

Hold on. Why was Bryce suddenly studying Casey like that?

"Okay, that settles it." Arriving at God knows what conclusion – and Chuck really hoped it was the one that ended this lesson and cancelled the date - Bryce scrubbed the side of his face and motioned to Casey. "It looks like you're in the batter's box slugger," he said, climbing to his feet. "Let's give it your best shot."

Casey went stock-still. It took a few seconds for his eyes to draw to slits. "... the _hell?" _he muttered.

"Sorry, Casey," Bryce said, fighting back a smile. "If it can't be me showing him the ropes, it's got to be you."

Chuck blinked. He tried to make sounds, but his breath caught in his chest. He didn't move. In reality, he couldn't.

Oh crap.

Glancing up, he had to marvel at John Casey, or specifically, how quickly he went from smug to _oh, shit_. Yeah, he didn't need flashcards to understand he was being asked to go well beyond the call of duty.

Scrambling to his feet, Chuck flailed his hands between them, one accidently landing on Casey's chest. "Ah – sorry, sorry. I didn't mean that. I ..." His voice trailed while he stumbled to get to the door. Casey was an agent – if they put on this charade, he would see right through Chuck's little infatuation.

And ensure he died painfully on the spot.

Of course, Bryce wouldn't let him get as far as reaching for the knob. A bit dazed – and terrified, yes, there was that – Chuck felt a firm shove against his chest, and he hit the bed with enough force to make it rattle.

"Chuck, this is not helping," Bryce told him.

"Not _helping_?" Chuck's wide eyes never left Bryce, since he was too afraid to look at Casey. "You know what else is not helping? Trying to get me killed."

"No, I'm stopping you from leaving – and screwing up the mission," Bryce answered.

Chuck ignored the need to tell him that _Mr. Perfect_ was doing a fairly decent job of screwing it up so far. It was a bit petty to point out he had lost Blosjo on the dance floor the night before, and maybe that would've been the end of it.

But, _what the hell was he thinking_? If Bryce was a temporary member of the team, wasn't he supposed to protect the Intersect? Not send it – and him, the human receptacle – to his untimely and painful demise? By ordering Casey to flirt with a man who he routinely tortured like a bully?

Hell, Chuck was certain that with the wrong kind of provocation, Casey would give him a junior high swirly if he fell into a certain mood.

"Go ahead, Casey." Bryce pointed at the now vacant space on the mattress. "Take my seat. You're up."

Casey seemed to stiffen. He had one hand on his belt buckle, and Chuck suspected the other was ready to go for his SIG. "I'm _up?"_

God, Casey. Did he really think the 'play dumb and it will go away' ploy would work with Bryce?

Bryce rolled his eyes, so yes, he caught it, too. "You have to flirt with Chuck," he said. "Show him what he needs to do, so he doesn't blow it tonight with Blosjo."

When his handler looked down at him, Chuck ducked. "Please don't hit me, Casey," he blurted, figuring the least he could do was put up his hands to protect himself. Maybe his face. The problem was he didn't know which limb Casey would start with. "I – I don't think –"

"Why not?" Bryce's smart aleck grin broadened enough to make Chuck want to punch him. "Casey's... attractive in a grizzly 'bear gnawing off your leg' kind of way, isn't he?"

"Are you _kidding_? He – he hates me!" Chuck risked a quick look up at the imposing figure. "And frankly, I'll admit it. I'm terrified of him, okay? There. I said it. Are we happy now?"

Bryce turned to Casey. "You bat lefty? Chuck can scoot over to the other side if you'd like."

Casey stared at Bryce for so long that Chuck wanted to poke his handler's chest to see if he was still breathing. In one part of his mind, Chuck was surprised Casey's eyes hadn't bored holes through Bryce, singing him to the nasty carpeting. Because that look would've done it to him, he thought, shirking back.

Mustering up his bravery, Chuck held up his hands in a calming gesture. "I think I should point out," he said. "The Intersect may be in danger if this lesson continues."

Chuck dared a look up. 'Rattled' wasn't quite a guise he had ever associated with his hard-as-nails handler, but there it was, along with something that appeared to be 'dumbstruck'.

Of course, Bryce noticed. It pleased him to no end. "Look who's waving the white flag. Never thought I'd see that." He deliberately kept his eyes on Casey, searching out the crack in his armor. "Does Chuck make you ... uncomfortable? Maybe I should call Morgan, and see if he can share his moves with –"

"I should've taken the head shot at the apartment," Casey said roughly. He looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head and muttering curses, something about Bryce's lineage that included vilifying the entire state of Connecticut on the grounds its citizens let him escape unscathed to wreak havoc on other territories.

"Uh ..." Tread cautiously, Chuck warned himself, knowing this may be the match in Casey's powder barrel. "You ... don't have to – I know this is –"

"Shut up." Casey took a deep breath, sparing one last scary look at Bryce ...

... and plopped down on the mattress. In a place that could be considered Chuck's vicinity.

Chuck stopped fidgeting and just held his breath, because for a reason he couldn't fathom, John Casey was now sitting next to him. As in close, close enough for their legs to touch and oh, God, he was going to die -

"I don't believe this shit," Casey mumbled, dragging a hand over his collar.

Chuck wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"What's wrong, Casey?" Bryce flashed a cocky grin at Casey's glare. "Don't you find Chuck attractive ... in a geeky-comic book hero kind of way?"

"If you don't get that smile off your face," Casey said plainly, "you'll be wearing it around your earlobe as a dangly earring."

The threat hit the mark. Bryce's smile deflated, and he cleared his throat. "Okay. Let's take a swing, Casey." He folded his hands together and nodded, as if _let's see it. _"Didn't you say you were the master?"

Chuck was looking straight ahead, so he could only see Casey scrutinizing him out of the corner of his eye. Well, whatever raw clay Casey deemed he was stuck working with, he then let out a huff of exasperation and took hold of Chuck's chin.

"Pathetic," he said under his breath, and turned Chuck's face around to meet his blue stare. "Start by saying _something_, Bartowski."

"Ow?"

"Shit. Rule one." Casey gave him a quick grimace, which led Chuck to believe he had blown a hole through the rule already. "You have to make eye contact, numb nuts."

"Oh." Chuck tilted his head. "Right."

Casey peered at his face. "And you probably want to ditch the look of utter distraction." His fingers dug in a little, and he used the grip to slant the kid's chin one way, and then other. "Or is that jitters ...? Hm. Hard to tell with that thing you're doing with your hands."

"I'm not ... doing anything," Chuck said without moving his lips. He swallowed hard, remembering to put his hands in his lap. "See? Perfectly relaxed."

"Sit up taller," Casey said, letting go of his jaw. The kid found out a second later he had only let go to free up that hand, using it to tap his thigh when he didn't react fast enough. "Up."

"I am." Chuck tried to put on a solemn look, but he felt as though a boa constrictor had slinked around his middle. "This is me, sitting tall."

"And stop hunching your shoulders. If a man asked a man on a date, _be one_, for Christ sakes. When you slouch, you look like a tall feminazi who's a month past needing a good haircut."

"Real cute," Chuck said, flushing. "Can this be done without the usual put-downs?"

"Heh. Rule _two_," Casey continued bluntly. "Lean into him when he's talking. No matter how many people are in the room, you're going to make him feel like he's the only one worth listening to."

"Oh-kay." As Chuck put a hand on his own knee, Casey shifted on the bed and angled his chin closer, his nose almost bumping Chuck's -

The kid jerked backwards. "Um, hi?"

"Can't do that," the NSA agent told him quietly. "Look at me. Stay there."

"How many rules are there, anyway?" Chuck asked. He badly wanted to slip a finger under the collar of his t-shirt and air it out a little, because the tiny cabin was quickly becoming a furnace.

On the other hand, acting panicky and sweating would break at least four more of Casey's rules, wouldn't it?

"You're going to hang on every word he says," Casey went on as if Chuck hadn't interrupted. "Let me put it in nerd terms. You want to make him feel like he's the center of the universe – a starship - and you're one of those dippy ass shuttlecrafts –"

"Or a starfighter?"

"Fine." Casey rolled his eyes. "One that wants permission to breach the perimeter. Enter his airspace, eh?"

"Okay, I get it," Chuck said, cringing that Casey had been watching the surveillance so closely during the last video game binge. "On a side note, mocking isn't going to help me tonight."

"Just remember, Skywalker. Your goal is to not get shot down in the process."

Chuck started to get up. "Well, it's been a blast, guys. Really. But this rebel fighter is heading back to safe harbor."

"You can't walk away," Bryce said, taking his arm, steering him back down. "Not yet, Chuck."

"But did you hear that advice?" Chuck scowled without looking at Casey. "I am capable of understanding something without putting it in Battle of Hoth terms, you know. Geez!"

"Don't say geez," Casey said. "Makes you sound like a snot-nosed kid."

"As a matter of fact, I have to admit, most of that was decent advice, Chuck." Bryce folded his arms over his chest, and upon inspection of them, he pursed his lips. "The only thing we still have to work on is the ... jolting you did with me. You can't do that."

"Just a reflex." Chuck ignored the point that Bryce had to be the cause. "No big deal."

"Mm." Bryce then turned his amused gaze to Casey. "I suppose you have sage advice for that, too?"

"Nothing you can _say_ to fix that," Casey said.

Bryce smiled and jerked a thumb at Chuck. "Good point. You'll have to practice a little flirting by _touching_, big guy. Maybe not the way Blosjo did it, but enough to get him over it."

Chuck abruptly straightened. It was one thing to have a person he really had come to despise touch him, but it was altogether another to have the man who played a significant role in some recent erotic and embarrassing dreams give it a go.

Come to think of it, he owed both Sarah and Casey an apology for one that involved a whirlpool under the stars, and a few scraps of fabric that could barely be regarded as a speedo and a bikini bottom. God, being in a five year sexual drought was doing wacky things to his REM.

Not that he would ever open this mouth about the whirlpool. Casey had killed for less than that.

On the side of him, Casey had become suspiciously quiet, but when he moved his thigh, it made Chuck remember he was dangerously close to a man who could bend his legs in ways the Maker didn't intend.

"Only one last rule for that," Casey said, grumbling.

Chuck dared to look at him. Casey's chiseled face was still very close. "Uh, do I want to know what it is?"

"It's called suck it up, Bartowski. Think you can handle that?"

Chuck gave Casey a pained look. "I – well –"

"Look who struck out now," Bryce said.

"Struck out?" Casey echoed. "Like hell I did."

"Really? Because I don't think 'suck it up' is going to get the job done. Chuck can give him all the goo-goo eyes he wants and listen to every word with bated breath, but if he can't take Blosjo touching him ... well, game over."

"Maybe he won't even try to, you know ... this time –" Chuck offered up weakly.

"Yeah, and pigs will fly. Get up, Casey." Bryce tilted his head to the side in a _move it_ manner. "Looks like I'm in the batter's box again -"

"I said, _like hell_, Larkin," Casey growled. At that moment, a meaty hand landed on Chuck's knee, making his eyes flare wide. "You just stand there and be an imbecile – and take notes, if you must. It's what you're best at."

"Oh." Chuck nervously glanced down at his leg. "I – I don't think this is such a – _ah_."

Casey's fingertips dug into his thigh. "And you?" he said to Chuck. "Shut up."

"But ... your _hand_ is on my –"

"Hey," Bryce said, the corner of his lip curved upward. "I don't believe it. He didn't flinch."

Chuck barely caught the words, because did Casey even know how warm his skin is? Because it's _warm_. Not just sunshine in the summer warm, but blast furnace _hot_. Chuck thought he should've noticed this by now, considering how much time they've spent together in vans, SUVs, and other tight places. But then again, Casey was never touching him then.

Like he is now.

"Now look at me, Bartowski," Casey ground out, impatience lacing his tone. "Eyes up front."

"I ... okay." Right then, Chuck did as he was told. "Just don't hurt me for this, John."

"Get that look off your face."

"What look?"

"Are you afraid of me?"

"Horribly so."

Casey sighed. "Just ... try."

Chuck licked his lips. This was probably not the optimal moment to notice that John Casey was handsome. Not in a too pretty-handsome way like Bryce. Not in the way that said _let's forget about the dart match in the library and see if you can take me two out of three in a wrestling match back at the frat house._

With Casey, though, it felt like he had graduated. Casey was handsome, all right, but more in a rugged 'if someone touches a hair on your head I will kill them' way.

God, when did he find that incredibly hot? Being protected by two people that didn't belong in his life, but would kill anyone who put it in jeopardy? It was an Intersect conspiracy. Had to be.

Chuck sucked in a breath as he felt something at the back of his head. He gaped when he realized it was Casey's hand.

"Casey, what are you doing to my hair?"

"What does it feel like?" Controlling himself, Casey withheld the _idiot_.

"It feels like you're ... ruffling it, or twisting a few things back there?"

"Goddammit, focus Bartowski." Chuck started to turn his head. "Not on my hand." _Moron_. "On my face."

"I can't when you're doing that to my hair!"

"You're doing great, Chuck," Bryce pointed out, letting out a grin he had been holding back for five solid minutes. In a deceptively mild tone, he then added, "So are you, Casey."

Chuck couldn't be bothered with whatever Bryce was getting at. Not with Casey ... twirling a few curls between his thumb and finger.

While he was thinking about it, why couldn't the government chip in enough for a room with a damn window? Did they have any idea that their own agents were going to roast in such close proximity? There was heat, mingling with the smell of clean skin and soap ... a spicy aftershave -

"Chuck!" came a familiar voice from the hallway. Rapid knocking ensued. "Are you in there? Dude, I thought we were going to the breakfast buffet together!"

Chuck jerked backwards, almost slipping off the end of the bed. _"Oh, no ..."_

"Wait." Bryce held up a hand. "Keep quiet. We're not done."

"I hear you, Bryce!"

"Open the door, numb nuts," Casey ordered. "He'll get suspicious."

Bryce sighed and opened the door for Morgan. "Come in. Just having a little party."

Morgan, already dressed in jean shorts and wearing a t-shirt that proclaimed 'Nerd is the new sexy', stepped inside and looked around. "I ... _see_."

As they followed his line of sight, both Casey and Chuck realized the same thing. That would be where Casey's big hand was still resting.

"Oh, crap." Chuck drew in a breath. No wonder his leg was still on fire.

Busted. Casey rolled his eyes and brought his hand over to his own knee.

"Well," the bearded man said, and cleared his throat. "Bryce isn't the jealous type?"

Chuck sprang to his feet, hands out in front. "I can explain." He paused, searching for a response. None came, so he began talking anyway. "You see, we were ... there was –"

"We were teaching Chuck how to flirt," Bryce offered casually.

"You were?" If Morgan looked confused a minute ago, now he was completely stumped. "What? Why?"

Damn right, why! Why in the hell would Bryce say that? Was he trying to blow the mission wide open?

When Chuck flicked a quick look at Casey, he could see his jaw tightened, so yeah, he had to be thinking the same thing. And wondering how he could wring his neck without ruining the cover.

"The man at the bar last night?" Bryce went on. "The one that was hitting on him?"

_Holy sh_ - He was talking about Blosjo – to Morgan. His ears started to buzz, and Chuck felt a band become rigid around his chest.

God, please stop him.

Casey's eyes narrowed, but when Bryce crossed his arms, he gave a signal with his finger. Chuck could see Casey try to interpret it, and evidently decided he would give Bryce ten seconds to clean this up, or he could clean up the floor with him.

"How could I miss it?" Morgan asked. "He had more hand moves than a traffic cop!"

"Well, that's not all." Bryce gave him a pointed look and lowered his voice. "He's been passing off fraudulent checks at our bank. I recognized him from the surveillance feed. Our security agency is investigating, but the guy is a ghost."

"What does this have to do with Chuck?"

Bryce lifted a shoulder. "He ... seemed to take an interest in your friend here."

"That's a polite way to say it." Morgan nudged his best friend's shoulder. "That guy wanted to know your _inseam_, Chuck!"

"It ... it was that obvious, huh?" Chuck hunched his shoulders, because only people on the pool deck wouldn't have noticed.

"He gave you a glowing report, we'll say." Bryce turned a shrewd smile on him. "He asked Chuck to meet him at the bar, and I thought if he ... flirted with him – tonight – he may find out something that we can use to apprehend him."

"Wow ... that's ..." Chuck held his breath while he watched his friend consider it. "How ... cool, man!"

"Cool?" Chuck sputtered.

"You can help capture a bad guy! When do guys like us ever get to do awesome stuff like that?"

Every freaking day of the week? "I guess ... you have a point."

"But ... hang on, that still doesn't explain why Casey was groping you."

Chuck's eyebrows went up.

Next to him, he heard a subsonic growl emanate from Casey's throat. "_Shut him up_."

"Um." Chuck attempted a weak smile. "It really wasn't groping. I told them I don't know how to flirt with this guy ... so _Casey_ offered to help."

"Casey ... help? Oh ... oh, God no," Morgan muttered, and slapping his hand over his forehead, he pivoted around on the NSA Agent. "You could've ruined him, man!"

Casey turned to Chuck. "What is the troll talking about?"

"I ... don't look at me like that, okay? I have no idea."

"Listen. To. Me." Morgan put his fingertips together, steepling them while he ensured he had each man's attention. "Chuck Bartowski is the last, and I mean very _last_ person on earth who needs flirting lessons."

"What?" Bryce and Casey said together.

"His charm is _au naturel_, man! He can cast a spell of black magic without even trying! He's not like you and I." Morgan put a hand on Bryce's shoulder and gave him a little shake. "Exhibit A. Look at this man. Have you ever seen a more perfect specimen?"

"Well, I –" Chuck started, not knowing how to answer that.

"I'll tell you." Morgan shook Bryce's shoulder again, earning a glare from the other man. "No. The answer, my friends, is no way _Jose_."

Casey opened his mouth to refute the point, but Morgan barreled ahead. "However, who had him eating out of his hand? Chasing him around campus like a love sick puppy?"

"Oh, no." Chuck lifted his hands, palms flat. "Please, Morgan, that's enough. Really, you've –"

"That's right! Charles Irving Bartowski, that's who." Morgan let go of Bryce and motioned at his best friend. "I only hope I got here in time. Chuck, look at me."

Chuck pushed a hand through his hair, but knowing his buddy would not give up, he then lifted his head to look at him. "There. Now are you done embarrassing me?"

Instead of answering, Morgan took hold of his chin and turned his face one way, then the other. "Thank God. I think it's still intact."

"It?" Chuck asked, frowning up at his friend.

"Never mind." Morgan stepped back and clapped his hands together. "Anyway, class dismissed. You can thank me later. Who's ready for breakfast burritos?"

-x-

"Hey," a deep voice rumbled from directly behind him. "What the hell are you doing, Bartowski."

"Ge – God!" Chuck tripped backwards against the wall of the alcove. The silver ice bucket in his hand went flying.

Graceful as a cat, Sarah lunged and caught the bucket before it could bounce off the floor.

"What the -" Chuck sighed when he saw it was just spy protectors, decked out in understated black, tight garb, and not the usual Casey-sized minions swooping down on him. "What is the matter with you people," he said between clenched teeth. "This is a cruise ship. Not the Khyber Pass!"

"Pull your head out," Casey said. "You were ordered to stay put unless one of us is nearby."

"Okay, for one," Chuck replied, taking the bucket from Sarah, "I was going to the ice machine, which happens to be five doors down from our room. And two, obviously, you're nearby, so the threat of desperados repelling from the ceiling within forty feet of me was negligible."

Sarah exchanged a look with Casey. "Chuck, I know you don't like it when I have to side with Casey, but –"

"Oh, great."

"- he is right."

Chuck shook his head, hoping they didn't expect him to apologize. "I'm never going to get used to this."

Sarah didn't look away from him. "Come here, okay?" Not letting him silently stew, she took his arm and pulled him gently into the small area where the vending machines and the ice chest lined one wall. "Listen, we have to be cautious, and obviously, you didn't know we were here."

Chuck leaned back against a Coke machine and huffed. It was annoying that she was always right. "Fine. Assassin escort non-negotiable, even on the pool deck," he said a bit petulantly. "Is there a reason for this ambush, or were you just testing my reflexes?"

"No, we wanted to make sure you were ready for tonight." Sarah gave him the examining once over, meaning it wouldn't matter how he answered because she was going to judge by his mess of curls going every which way, showing how many times he had run his hand through them.

She made a 'hm' sound.

Immediately, Chuck smoothed down his hair. "I'm as ready as one can be before his date with a criminal mastermind, I guess."

Casey, who had let Sarah handle the kid glove treatment for a minute, made his own 'hm' noise. "We tapped into the phone call you made to Blosjo. Good work, ace, making him think you want to _tap_ that."

"Nice," Chuck said, brows rising. Why was he acting like such a jerk? "In fact, I think I asked for a respectable date. So if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you dial down the sarcasm about ten notches."

"That wasn't sarcasm, Chuck." Sarah shifted her stance and glanced at Casey. "You did great. He thinks so, too."

"Did you figure out a way to ditch the troll tonight?" Casey tipped his chin in the direction of their room. "If not, I can tranq him."

Chuck's nose crinkled at the idea of it. "Hang on. Morgan said he's wiped out after our day in Cabo and he has no interest in watching me get felt up like a week-old banana. So you'll have to put away your playthings, Casey. No tranquing necessary."

"Darn," Casey said, mock wistfulness brimming. "What if he gets his second wind, eh? Have you checked his daily itinerary?"

"His what?" Sarah asked.

"Um, long story." Chuck cast a guilty look down the hallway and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I might've ... deployed a contingency plan in case he does change his mind."

"Yeah?" Casey gave a skeptical look. "We didn't discuss a contingency plan. What is it?"

Chuck shrugged. "I queued up the Lord of the Rings trilogy on the pay per view," he explained. "He should be preoccupied for the next, oh I don't know – eleven hours or so?"

Casey looked over to squint at him.

Sarah just looked momentarily confused.

"Whoa ... you two are – you know what? That's also a long story." Chuck cleared his throat and pushed off from the vending machine. "You two should take a break from the superhero biz sometime. Your education is lacking in certain capacities."

"I'd like to keep it that way," Casey said. "Go get ready for your hot date."

Chuck rubbed the tension from the back of his neck. What he really wanted to do was kick the vending machine for having to go through with this. "I don't want to keep him waiting, do I?"

Casey grunted. "Oh, and Bartowski? Nice touch there, going for his weakness."

"His weakness?" Chuck turned with a wary expression. "I wasn't trying to do that."

"Oh? Just for the record, telling a hair product mogul and part time nuclear freak that his hair is _nice_ is the same as going for the jugular." Casey stood next to the ice chest and smirked at him, enjoying his discomfort. "Might want to tell him his eyes are dreamy next. He'll have you in the sack in no time."

Chuck glared at him. "I didn't want to say anything," he contended, a deep redness rising on his cheeks, "but ... he told me he likes tall men, okay? So I felt obligated to give the reciprocal compliment - and frankly, I was freaking out a little, so that's the best I could do."

"Tall men? Hum." Casey paused as he looked over the kid. "Sounds like code to me."

"Code? Like what?"

"Code for 'glad I finally met a man whose feet will reach the back wall over the headboard'."

"You know something?" Chuck said, folding his arms over his chest. "You're an asshole."

Casey stared for a long time, but Chuck figured he pulled it off when the larger man didn't immediately kick his ass for that. In fact, the grunt in his throat translated loosely to _that took you four months to figure out, and you're the genius?_

"You'll do fine." Sarah positioned herself between them, flashed a small smile. "And, Chuck? _That_ was sarcasm."

"Wow. Thanks for the interpretation."

"One more thing, Bartowski." Casey reached into his pocket. "You'll need protection while you're in there."

"Thank God. Finally. What it is? Nunchucks? A blow gun and darts?"

The small tinfoil packet nearly bounced off his chest.

"Had to guess the size," Casey said. "Government doesn't keep that kind of sensitive data in your records."

Sarah gave her partner a look of dire warning. "Chuck, that's his way of saying, you'll be fine. Loosen up."

Chuck set his face to a mutinous scowl. "You, John Casey?" he said, stabbing the scoop into the ice, "are so ... twisted."

-x-

Chuck yanked his elbow back, his arm wet thanks to the klutzy move he had just impressively managed. "Oh, my God. Sorry! I am so – did I ruin your pants?"

"No," Blosjo said, smiling politely, proving that his dimples should be outlawed. His barstool was pointed at Chuck's, so he had to turn to the side to look for something to mop up the bar. "But I will excuse myself for a minute to go to the restroom. I'll see if I can round up some club soda."

"I feel terrible about that." Chuck did his best to wipe up his spilled pomegranate cosmo with a bar napkin. "Usually, I'm not this clumsy."

He heard Casey chuckle through the ear bud.

"I'll be right back." Blosjo got up from the stool. "Don't go anywhere, hot stuff." He winked, which Chuck found unnerving, and almost as creepy as Jeff's. As the mark walked past him, his hand slipped over the back of Chuck's neck, and he gave him a squeeze that the kid thought was way too familiar.

Luckily, he had turned, and therefore missed the jolt. "Ah ... ah ... okay, I'll be right here," Chuck said. _Trying not to wet myself_.

Casey, however, didn't miss the kid recoiling at the touch. "Get your head in the game, Bartowski," he growled into the mic. "I've been waiting here for thirty minutes watching you two get lovey-dovey, and it's making me sick. Dispense with the 'get to know you' crap, and get down to his suite. Now!"

"I'm ... I'm not that kind of guy," Chuck hissed into his spy watch. "I take things slow, okay. That's who I am."

"He called you _hot stuff_," Casey reasoned. "And I saw that little play at your neck. So, newsflash nerd: that's code for hands on the wall and spread 'em!"

"Sarah, he's ... not talking about arresting me, is he?"

The soft chuckle through the mic was perplexing, and while he thought about it, not helpful. "Chuck, you're doing fine. And Casey, if this is _bothering_ you too, much –"

"Can it, Walker. Just get the stud ready for duty."

Chuck pushed a shaky hand through his hair and turned in his seat to give his handler a dirty look. It was fortunate that Casey was sitting at a table next to the expanse of windows overlooking the ocean, because it meant he couldn't see the freak-out hitting fifteen on a scale of ten.

"I can handle this," he whispered. He almost believed it.

**-x-End The Odd Quadruple Chapter Eight-x- **

A/N: There you have it. How Not to Mess with the Kid's Natural Aura in 22 pages or more. Many thanks to you wonderful folks who are reading along with the story, despite the fact your calendars are telling you we are in mid-January – and wasn't this supposed to be _holiday_ fic?

And tremendous thanks for readers who have left comments here or on A03 or . You guys have given me huge smiles!

Til next time,

-skye

22


	9. Chapter 9

**The Odd Quadruple**

**Chapter Nine**

"_Can it, Walker. Just get the stud ready for duty."_

Chuck pushed a shaky hand through his hair and turned in his seat to give his handler _a dirty look. It was fortunate that Casey was sitting at a table next to the expanse of windows overlooking the ocean, because it meant he couldn't see the freak-out hitting fifteen on a scale of ten. _

"_I can handle this," he whispered. He almost believed it._

-x-

"Casey." Sarah, standing at the other end of the bar and hearing the dialogue through her mic, jumped in to rescue him before Chuck could open his mouth. "Blosjo seems receptive – and he's opening up to Chuck, so why don't you stay out of it right now?"

Her reproof was met with an angry bear sound in Chuck's ear. "Just speed it up, Bartowski. If I have to hear anything else about the how nice the towel warmer in your bathroom is, I'm going to stab my eyes out with this olive spear. Got it?"

"Cut me some slack here." Chuck turned back to the bar and hunched his shoulders – just in time to jolt when something warm skimmed along the bare skin over his collar.

"Miss me, sweet cheeks?"

"Oh. Hey ... hey there."

Blosjo flashed his dimples and slid into his seat. He wasted no time pointing his barstool at Chuck's again, spreading his thighs so that the kid's legs were wedged between his. Some feat, since Chuck figured he was about five inches taller than the little nuclear weasel. "Brought you another Stella."

Chuck returned the smile, a bit forced, and raised his eyes to see the man watching him with keen interest. "Thank you. Um, cheers."

Okay, so he didn't look like a weasel. Chuck had to concede that much at least. In other circumstances – ones that didn't involve breaking up deals that could potentially eradicate a fair percentage of the Earth's population - he might find a man like this one attractive.

Who was he kidding? Yes, he was attractive. Now that they were close, Chuck saw that his first impression, when they stood in Casey's apartment and were briefed on the mission, still held true. It was crazy and backwards considering the man's black insides, but he had been bestowed with boyish good looks, followed quickly by a devilish smile, and eyes that had nothing on the color of a clear winter sky.

What else had his file said about him? Chuck replayed it in his head, because he guessed that's what a spy should be doing. Thirty-five years old. Self-made almost billionaire, and the kid mentally added to the list 'keeps his appearance immaculate' and 'likes his hands to be busy'.

That last characteristic, the way his hand slipped forward, using his finger to stroke the sensitive skin at his wrist, made Chuck slightly jumpy. Maybe more than slightly.

Okay, honestly, it had him rounding third base and heading for home on the freak-out meter.

"And your ... friend?" Blosjo was asking.

"My friend?" Chuck blinked. "Oh. Morgan." Dammit. He immediately blanched. Was he supposed to give the name of his best friend to a known terrorist?

"The little bearded guy at your table last night?" David – Chuck reminded himself that the first thing he had said was to call him David – smiled at him, a curious gleam in his eyes. "He's not your boyfriend?"

"Who? Morgan?" Crap. He did it again. "No, no, no. Just a friend. That's all."

David lifted a brow while one hand settled on Chuck's knee, traced a circle over his kneecap. "Seems like an odd place for two buddies to be hanging out. A cruise like this?"

"It's ... um." Chuck bought a few seconds to think by taking a drink of his beer. How much should he tell him? Why in the world hadn't they covered this in the tutorial, instead of letting Bryce grope him? Fidgeting, he decided there was no harm in telling him. "He won the cruise. From a radio station contest. It was a last minute surprise – and here we are."

"So your friend is ...?"

"Straight? That would be a yes," Chuck answered. "He likes girls. Or women. Or anything of the female variety, really. He just hasn't been lucky." He stopped to think of Anna. "Not very much, anyway, until recently."

"Hm." David lifted his scotch and took a swallow, then gave him a wry smile.

"Is there ... do I have something on my shirt?" Chuck asked, looking down. The way the blond studied him made the kid want to squirm, but recalling Casey's gruff order to sit up straight, Chuck purposely pressed his spine to the back of the barstool. "I've been known to spill at the worst possible times."

"_Heh," _he heard through the mic.

"No, nothing like that." The smile faded, and David continued his train of thought. "So Morgan invited you along ... and you are ...?"

At first, Chuck drew his brows down in confusion. What was he getting at? But as he considered the question, a few fingers began to rub the inside seam of his jeans, and the meaning dawned on him.

"Oh. _Straight_?" Chuck heard his voice crack. "Well ... I – you see ... It's not that I ... I guess I like to think of myself as a crooked arrow." God, he hated that he blushed, but it was more to do with being a late bloomer. He didn't land on the conclusion that he liked women _and_ men until Bryce took the opportunity to enlighten him. "Back in school, I had a girlfriend ... and a boyfriend."

"Not at the same time, I hope," David said, his dimples diminishing for a moment.

"Together?" Chuck gave him a baffled look. "Me? God, no. I would never – well, you know." He finished his thought with a hand wave since he had no idea what else to say.

David chuckled, and within the impossible blue of his eyes, there was a troubling hint of mischievousness. His fingers inched a bit further up Chuck's inner thigh. "Either you're the best liar on this ship, or I believe you. You don't look like the two-timing type, kiddo."

Did he call him kiddo? Sheesh. Granted, the other man was a bit older, but it made Chuck feel like the newbie in all of this _– and what the hell was that?_

Chuck blinked, right when he figured out that David's index finger, going back and forth leisurely over the ridge of his pants seam, began trailing slowly inward. Higher on his thigh -

All right, so yes. He was the newbie in this scenario.

"As a matter of fact, they two-timed on me," Chuck blurted. He quickly took a gulp from the bottle and repositioned his legs, discreetly attempting to move backwards.

"Ouch." David shook his head. "So what are you looking for now, Chuck?"

How was he supposed to answer that? Could the truth get him in trouble? "I'm ... looking for anyone who's ferociously loyal. Even to a fault. And more importantly, I guess, they need to accept that in me."

"Hm. Well said." David clinked his glass with Chuck's beer bottle and took a drink.

Chuck glanced down to where their legs touched. Shuffling back hadn't done a lick of good, because Blosjo immediately filled the gap, sliding his hand over Chuck's knee. He picked up where he left off, teasing him with a few fingers over the muscle of his inner thigh.

In the kid's head, just that soft _scritching_ against his jeans seemed to make a hell of a racket, and everybody within fifty feet of them would have to know he was being touched under the bar top.

Why it took Chuck so long to notice, he had no idea, but when he felt Blosjo's hand begin roaming, he understood why the other man had chosen these seats. The bar had the curve of a horseshoe, and since they were sitting at one end with Chuck's back to the rest of the Gotham Lounge, no one could see Blosjo's wandering fingers. Even the fact that he had Chuck trapped between his outspread thighs wouldn't be apparent to anyone else unless they walked around that corner of the bar.

That sleazy jerk!

Once he had him here, it was obvious Blosjo had decided to take full advantage of the positioning. Well, it wasn't just that, the kid figured, feeling his stomach twist. He had planned it this way, and Chuck wanted to smack his own forehead for agreeing to sit back here.

"- and I bet you have a story," David said. "Everyone does."

"Story?" Chuck flinched, just as one sweep of his fingers moved up closer than before. He hoped his burning cheeks weren't too obvious, but then again, only David could see his face, and he had to know that he was the cause of it. "I'm not sure I –"

"Coming out?" David smiled at him and took a sip of his scotch. "Please don't tell me you're one of those people who recorded it for YouTube."

"Uh, no." Chuck returned the smile since he thought he should. "My life's pretty boring, even that moment. I don't need any part of it stamped with number of views." He veered his attention to his beer bottle. "My sister only wants me to be happy – with the right person."

David made a hum sound, his eyes fastened on Chuck's face.

"What? Did I say something?" Chuck asked. Oh, no. Now his hand drifting under the bar was getting darn close to indecent.

"No, it's not that," David said, shaking his head. "I'm thinking – it'll sound dumb, but ... lucky me."

"Why – why is that?"

"What I saw a minute ago – that smile?" He leaned in a bit closer. "I thought I liked you because you stand out in a crowd. But that? I might like it even better."

"Standing over everyone has been a problem since tenth grade," Chuck interjected, cringing at his own lame joke.

"But lucky me, you also have a killer smile."

Killer? Nice word choice, Blosjo. Chuck quickly took another drink from his beer and tried to inconspicuously scoot back, but the other man seemed to anticipate that move. In an instant, he nudged forward on his seat and filled in any space Chuck had managed to put between them.

"I – what bands do you like? Or – or do you have any pets?"

"Bartowski." On cue, Casey's grumpy voice resonated in his ear. "If you don't cut the crap and get down to his room," he said, "I'm going stuff your skinny carcass under a silver-domed dinner tray, and have you delivered to his room naked with a bow tied to your ass. Move it!"

Sarah, at the other end of the bar, slowly turned around and sent a look of daggers to the lone, large patron sitting next to the windows.

Through the ear bud, Chuck could hear Casey mutter something unintelligible and then heave out a breath. Fortunately for the kid, Sarah's silent but lethal message must've gotten to him, though, because he left it at that.

"You seem ... nervous," David told him, lifting a hand to draw his fingers over Chuck's ribcage. He watched his face for a reaction, and Chuck prided himself on the fact he didn't give him one. "Everything okay?

"It's ... ah ..." Chuck cleared his throat to buy a few seconds. "PDA, okay? I'm not good at it."

He heard Casey snort in his ear. "Heh. Good work, stud. Just earned a ticket down to his room with that line."

Um, why? What did he say?

"You mean you don't care for it, because I think you could be good at it," David gently admonished, "even if it's not technically PDA, considering where we're sitting." He glanced meaningfully over Chuck's shoulder. "No one can see what we're doing ... under here, can they? I made sure of it."

He admitted it, right there. What a dick!

"I – well, it's still –" and Chuck broke it off there to gradually but firmly move the hand about to reach the Forbidden Zone. "It makes me a bit uncomf – able - _ah_ –"

The squeak came at about the time the boyishly handsome and innocent-looking _perv_ got in one more squeeze before his hand was given back to him.

"I have the cure for that," David suggested, giving him a quick grin. The drumbeat of music began, the reverberation making it harder to keep up a conversation. Blosjo pushed Chuck's empty bottle to the side and brought his face close. "Do you want to hear it?"

"I ... guess." Chuck repressed a shudder at the feel of soft lips brushing the outer edge of his ear. The shudder unfolded when the little creep stroked a finger along his jaw.

"Come to my room," David told him.

"Your room?" Now what was he supposed to do? Obviously, he had to go with him or Casey would be looking for a silver-domed tray.

"You're nervous. I get it." David took his last swallow, then he shrugged, putting on an uneasy smile. "I'm a strange man ... I just met you last night – and here I am inviting you down to my room, right? On top of that, you're worried that when I get you down there, I'm going to try to take it further. Is that it?"

"Well." Chuck purposely looked away and sighed. "I think that's obvious."

His voice was interrupted by a low sound in his ear. "Bartowski, I am going to string you up by your geek neck if you blow this."

"Listen." David held up his hands in mock surrender. "I know I've come on to you tonight – maybe a little too hard – but there's no denying it. The truth is I'm attracted to you. And I have to ask ... has this been bothering you?" He rubbed a few fingers over Chuck's knee.

Chuck put all his attention into keeping stock still. "A little, yes."

"Then ... I apologize, sweet meat." It didn't sound much like an apology, especially when he chuckled at Chuck's flushed face. "But here's the thing, Chuck," David went on, and he turned his stool around to lean an elbow on the bar. "I'm making a sale tonight."

"A sale?" Chuck's throat tightened.

"Yes. I found a seller for ... a vineyard in Argentina that I own, and it looks like we've finally come to an agreement on a price."

"They're ... here?" Chuck stopped crumpling a bar napkin to look at him. "On the ship?"

"In fact, waiting for me to sign the papers." David nodded and pointed his thumb in the direction of the exit. "We're meeting later to finalize the deal."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"They say it's bad karma to mix business and pleasure, but frankly, I think they're wrong."

"That's ... not really an answer."

"You're right."

Blosjo's sharp eyes examined him for a long moment, and when he reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind Chuck's ear, the kid had to hang onto the edge of the bar to suppress another jolt.

"What I'm getting at is this, Chuck." He met the kid's confused look with a smile. "I have two bottles of my best Cabernet from that vineyard chilling, and I thought it would make the night easier to let go if I had someone who would share it with me."

"The wine, you mean."

"Heh," said Casey in his ear. "He means 'I'll let you bite my pillow, tiger'."

David laughed and reached into his wallet, tossing a twenty onto the bar. "Yeah. The wine," he agreed, and taking Chuck's arm, the kid could see a picture playing behind the other's man eyes now. "Are you ready to get out of here?"

-x-

"How's our stud doing?"

"Shh. Shut the door."

Giving Sarah an eye roll, Casey closed the door quietly behind him and took a moment to appraise the reconnaissance situation. The storage closet at the end of the hall from Blosjo's room was bad enough to begin with. With Larkin sucking up a third of the breathable air, it made the tight space damn right unbearable.

Casey shot his fake boyfriend a disapproving look and he moved a mop out of his way. "Rounding first base yet?" he asked to Sarah.

"You'll have to save the put downs, Casey. After your _tender_ encouragement at the bar, I decided I would control what Chuck hears. And right now, you're on a closed mic."

Casey gave her the stink-eye for her efforts. Checking out the tiny room, he saw that Sarah, appearing squeezed in and uncomfortable, had at least found a large bin of cleaning supplies on which to sit with her ex-partner. It looked as if a serving cart had been requisitioned as a makeshift table for the spying equipment. The light from a laptop sitting on it splashed the tiny room in a ghostly blue glow.

It peeved him off some that this closet was bigger than the bathroom he was sharing with the doofus.

"Please tell me he flashed so we can get out of here," Casey said.

Sarah answered by focusing more intently on the screen, her mouth slightly puckered in a frown.

"Going that well, eh?"

"They just got into the room," Sarah explained without lifting her attention from the laptop. "Before you complain, yes, it's a bust so far, but Chuck seems to be doing fine."

"Casey, come and check out the room. Nice digs, huh?" Bryce pointed at the left side of the screen. "And look. Our Romeo was prepared for Chuck. Champagne in a silver bucket."

"Yeah, he's a fucking charmer." Casey folded his arms over his chest, looking over Bryce's shoulder at the screen. "Bartowski's dream date."

"Not quite," Bryce mumbled. At least he knew not to expound on that. Instead, the smaller man leaned closer to get a better look, unable to repress a smile. "Are those ... red roses? Boy, he wasn't lying when he said he likes tall men."

"Perfect hair swooshes _and_ a craving for tall geeks," Casey said. "Wouldn't have guessed it, Larkin, but you do have something in common with Mr. 'Lets throw a party by incinerating the western seaboard'. Jealous much?"

"Speaking of cravings," Bryce volleyed, "Casey, maybe you should come clean about -"

"Bryce. Casey," Sarah said, curtness flavoring her words. "Our asset is being seduced by Mr. Good Times here, so maybe we should be paying attention to the surveillance?"

Bryce grumbled under his breath, but didn't take it any further. Which saved him, Casey figured, since he would've used the mop at his side to skewer him if he finished whatever he had started.

Casey answered him with a grunt and turned his focus, inspecting the lush suite. The surveillance feed revealed the living area where Chuck's hot date now stood; the little poacher was leaning on the side of a plush grey sofa, brightened up with bursts of yellow on the pillows and the fancy artwork that hung over it.

He almost let a whistle escape between his teeth. Damn. Larkin was right about the room. Beat the shit out of the hell hole they were stuck in.

"Come on, Bartowski," Casey murmured, though he was sure Sarah had not activated his mic. "Give the place a good sweep." He had to bend down to get closer to the screen. "Got the audio?"

"I'll adjust it." Sarah touched a dial and the voices from Blosjo's cabin transmitted clearly through the laptop speakers.

"_Do you always pace like this? Come and sit down. No need to be nervous."_

"_Well. I –" _Chuck's voice_. "Alrighty, then."_

"I told him not to say alrighty," Casey pointed out.

"_Tell me again ...?"_

"– _at, uh, Akamai Software. I'm an engineer. Oh, little known fact for you. Akamai is the Hawaiian word that means witty or clever."_

"Shit," Casey griped, shaking his head. "We're dead."

Some muffled talk was covered by Bryce's cough, but when Chuck sat at the other end of the sofa, Blosjo wasted no time letting him know the error of his ways. Moving over to fill the space, he put a hand on the kid's knee.

Casey narrowed his eyes at that hand. The scowl on his face did not register until Sarah turned around to look up at him.

"What is it?" she asked.

He shifted gears to mocking sarcasm. "We're in trouble. With that dickhead's hand there, strap in. Here comes the babbling portion of our date."

"– _it's quite, uh, fascinating, if you think about it. Oh – ah." _According to the video feed, Blosjo was so enamored with Chuck's story – heh - that one of his hands had come awfully close to the kid's inner thigh.

"Uh-oh," Bryce said quietly. They watched as Chuck automatically startled, and compensated by scooting over a few inches.

"_Well, here's the cool part._ _The browser is redirected to copies of the website and the download times are –"_

"Does this kid know he's supposed to be trying to flash, and not putting the mark into a Goddamn geek coma?"

"Casey. Shh." Sarah stole a scolding glance at him and flicked a switch on the audio console. It controlled the feed to the kid's ear bud. "You're doing great, Chuck. Keep him talking."

Before Casey could say anything that would be overheard, she flipped the switch. "You're too easy on him," he argued. "Next time, let me coach him."

"You make him too nervous when you're growling into the mic like that."

"You're babying him, Walker. He's never going to toughen up if you keep him in a bubble."

"This is not the time for him to be pushing the limits, Casey," Sarah told him evenly.

"Eh." The NSA agent decided to leave it at that.

"Who knew the bait would be this effective," Bryce said, watching the same thing that they were all noticing. The little creep's arm slinking over the back of the couch while he pretended to listen to the kid's story. With it folded behind Chuck, it presumably was convenient to draw his hand over the kid's collar and get cozy around his shoulder. "I don't think the mark is bored by Chuck. In fact, he seems to be keeping him ... interested."

"Interested. That's what they call it, eh, Larkin?" Casey snorted, though for professional reasons, it did piss him off that the little jerk was taking so many liberties with the ... Intersect. He wasn't trained for this. "And it looks like his other hand is _interested_ in finding the buttons of Chuck's shirt. Look at him. He's still flinching, too."

"He didn't do that with you," Bryce observed.

Sarah, who had been watching the video feed attentively, didn't say a word. Not that she needed to, Casey saw. No. Instead, she slowly twisted around to look up at him, and that damn brow of hers arched up in curiosity. "Chuck didn't flinch when?" she asked.

Casey's jaw tightened. "Not what you think, Walker. The asset busted into our room this morning. _Anxious_ about his performance tonight."

"And?"

"_And_," Casey said between his teeth, "his ex-best _friend_ tried to loosen him up some. Show him a few moves from seduction school."

Sarah's mouth started to fall open, but then she remembered they had left Chuck mid-grope to hear this. She swung back around towards the screen, giving Casey the impression that was the end of it.

Yeah, well, that was just a blow back of false hope. Walker wasn't the type to just let something go. Especially a bone this meaty.

"Seduction school. _Really_," Sarah said, drawing out each syllable. She kept her eyes on the laptop, which was a damn good thing because Casey did not want to see the blonde's smart ass smile. "And how did that little lesson go, Bryce?"

On screen, Chuck jerked away again when Blosjo's hand on the back of the couch began to flip a few of Chuck's curls between his fingers.

"It could've gone better." Bryce frowned at Chuck and shrunk back in his seat. "He seems to hold onto lingering resentment towards me." Pausing to choose his words carefully, he pretended to adjust the audio. "Every time I tried to touch him – you know, warm him up a little for tonight? – he ... well -"

"Jumped like he had been hit by a hot poker," Casey said, his smirk growing so distinct that Bryce wouldn't have to look back at him to see it. "Are those the words you're looking for, Larkin?"

Bryce's face crinkled in a grimace. But it turned decidedly devious by the time he leaned his elbows on the table. "It was _interesting_, though, Sarah," he said sardonically. "When we switched places, and your partner took over, he seemed to get over his flinching. Not one recoil."

"He didn't?"

"Nope." Bryce didn't look up at Casey, which was a good thing, because he was going to wring his neck. "You must have the gentle touch, John."

Still focused on the video feed, Sarah let out a chuckle that had Casey's neck tensing. "So, let me get this straight. Casey stepped in to take one for the team – and gave Chuck seduction lessons?"

"Yep," Bryce answered before Casey could shove a rag down his throat. "You should've been there in the audience. Casey would've popped some popcorn."

"Or your head off," Casey offered coolly.

"Hang on." Sarah briefly dragged her eyes from the monitor. "So this means that while Casey's little _teachable_ moment was happening, I was stuck watching Blosjo's empty room for two and half hours instead? _God_ ..."

He couldn't make it out, but Casey swore he heard her mumble something about her sucky cover. He only knew he didn't like it one damn bit. If she wanted to compare and bitch about sucky covers, well, stand in line, sister.

"You mean stuck doing your job, Walker?" the NSA agent corrected silkily. "Turn up the audio. I can't hear him with all this yammering going on."

"– _content caching – and accelerated dynamic -_" Chuck. Still.

For a second or two, the audio scrambled. Casey didn't mind. At first.

"– _and by avoiding the, uh, middle-mile bottleneck –_"

"Tell him to cut the nerd crap," Casey said, tapping Sarah's shoulder.

"Why? He's keeping it together, Casey. Let's not rock the boat."

"Why?" Casey scoffed, glancing at his teammates with disdain. "Because I'm going to cut my ears off, that's why."

"_Peer to peer networking, huh?" _Blosjo's voice. Finally, the nerd had let the mark get in a word edgewise. "_That's ... remarkable –_"

Casey curled his lip in a sneer. "That's code. Means if you keep talking, I'm going to impale myself on the spindle of that four poster bed. Or get you to shut up and get in it."

"I think you're wrong, Casey." Bryce had found a bag of pretzels from somewhere and was now munching a few down. "I think he's very interested in peer to peer networking. As long as it's with Chuck."

"Your mic is off, too, Bryce," Sarah informed him without looking over.

Casey deliberately grinned, now that he wasn't the only one being censured by Walker.

Back to business, they watched as Blosjo got up from the sofa. It had to be something about Chuck's bashfulness or fidgeting, but the blond-haired man always seemed to have an amused little smirk on his face as he listened to Chuck speak. Casey decided he wanted the chance to remove that smirk. With his fist, preferably.

God, he hated this kind of ilk, these slippery smooth talker-types. Wearing his perfectly tailored casual clothes that had to have set him back a mint. Italian shoes that cost more than Casey's first car he bought after West Point, scraping together every last dime.

"_- does your business take you abroad?"_ Blosjo was asking, still with the tight-lipped smug face. _"Anywhere you'd like to go again?"_

"_I – well, not really. I've never been anywhere."_

Before Chuck could stammer out the rest of the reply, the video feed blanked out.

"_You'd be surprised how much can be done by remote access-_"

"What the hell just happened," Casey asked over Chuck's voice on the audio feed.

Sarah sat up taller and her eyes cut back to the wires and ports, not panicked, but Casey could see her tension rise. "I'll see if I can get it back."

"Hang on, Sarah. I'll try to isolate the cause of interference." Bryce reached under her arms and tapped on a few keys. "I might be able to jam it."

Casey could tell Bryce had peeved her, but instead of elbowing him, she sat back and folded her arms over her chest, drumming her fingers along her arm and listening to the feed.

"Be my guest, Bryce," she said, giving him a chilly look.

It was one thing he liked about Walker. Fine, maybe there were others, too. But unlike the jackass here, she knew when it was not the time to get into it with your team.

Next to her, Bryce continued to tap keys and was able to access the program that controlled the video feed, but so far, a hell of a lot of good that did. The screen remained black.

"Why - that should've worked ..." Bryce said under his breath.

Sarah and Casey exchanged a look, and Sarah turned up the audio feed since that was all they had at the moment.

"– _more champagne? Well, I – I don't -_"

"Chuck, take the champagne," Sarah told him through the ear bud. "You're doing great."

"– sure, why not?" Chuck laughed. Even from the audio feed, it sounded both pained and forced. _"It's not as if I have a long drive tonight, right?"_

"Enough with the lame cracks. Kiss him or something, will you?"

"He can hear you," Sarah said. "I turned your mic back on. Don't make me regret it.

"Good." Casey lifted his watch to his mouth before Sarah could swat it away. "Bartowski, if you have any mercy on my aching ass, you will change the damn topic with the next sentence out of your mouth. Got that?"

"_- the same artwork in our cabin?"_ Chuck's voice wavered.

While Bryce continued to fiddle with the laptop to reestablish video surveillance, the audio feed crackled once or twice. On the bright side, Casey thought, he wouldn't have to hear the kid go down in flames, since he was fairly certain he had just heard Chuck compliment the pictures on the wall.

"– _someone must really like buttercups ... – or ... sale at ...-"_

"Chuck, can you hear me?" Sarah asked.

The com went silent.

Casey growled. "Bust up job, Larkin."

"What did I do?"

"Better to say what did you not do," Casey muttered, wanting to smack the back of his head. "I take it that it was _you_ who set up the surveillance for tonight?"

"So?"

"You have ninety seconds to get us back on line, or this mission is a bust." Twisting the knife a bit, Casey then set the timer on his watch, pleased that Bryce looked up to scowl when he heard the ominous beep. "Starting now."

"I'll fix it." It didn't appear as if he was fixing it though. In fact, he just kept hitting keys and letting out a curse now and again.

A minute ticked by with nothing but static.

"Thirty seconds, Larkin." Casey made a frustrated growl. "Get us online. Now."

"It's a little hard to work with you breathing down my neck like that!"

"Guys, let's focus," Sarah reminded them. "Bryce, let's get back in there ..."

"– _attached to the wall like that? ... think someone would ..." _

A burst of static cut off the rest.

A full ten seconds passed. If anything, Bryce had only managed to botch it up ten times worse. It was almost as if the little blond dick head planned it -

_Planned it._

_Blocked them._

What if he did?

What if – _for once_ - it wasn't Bryce's fault?

It was a heartbeat later, when Sarah turned around in her seat to look up at him, that he could sense she felt the same quiver of electricity. There was a sudden prickling of the hair on the back of his neck, that eerie alertness he had always felt before incoming missile fire.

"Got a bad feeling," Casey said. He unfolded his arms and took a step towards the door.

"I think so, too, Casey." Sarah rose and pushed the serving cart out of the way. "Let's go."

"Wait." Bryce held up a hand in a _calm down_ gesture. "I can fix this. Just give me another thirty seconds, okay."

"We don't have thirty seconds, Bryce. This isn't the way it goes." Sarah didn't cast him another look. "I think Chuck is in trouble."

"If you barge in there, guns blazing," and Bryce stopped to give Casey an _I mean you_ glance, "it blows everything." He rose out of the chair with a good deal of stubborn resolve on his face, but if he thought for one minute he could stop them, well, it almost made Casey want to laugh. "He's already told Chuck he's making a deal tonight."

"Bryce, we can't –"

"And Blosjo meant his contact. _This_ deal. The reason we're all here. If you do this, we'll never know who he's working with. They'll run back to their hole in the ground."

"We're not taking a chance with Chuck," Sarah replied, already checking the magazine in her gun and sliding it back in her waistband.

"You mean the Intersect," Bryce said pointedly.

She turned to Casey. "Ready?"

It was the consolation prize, Casey had to concede. It had nothing on the consolation prize they would earn if he had to tell Beckman they had taken a risk with the asset's life, and lost him because of it. With the secrets in that kid's head landing in God knows whose lap, Beckman would have him swabbing out toilets at the Pentagon until retirement.

Yeah, fine. Maybe it wasn't merely the demotion, or the humiliation that came with it. The little stab in his gut could've had something to do with a certain curly-headed nerd who might've gotten under their skin, but he wasn't going to waste precious seconds thinking about that.

The best situation they could hope for was that the surveillance was just a fluke, and when they opened the door, they'd see the kid with a strange man's hand down his pants.

Casey turned away. He certainly wouldn't consider why the damn hand was bothering him almost as much as the danger.

"Let's roll," he said, simultaneously pushing the door open and blocking Bryce from leaving. "Time for the good guys to show the little douche some moves of our own."

-x-

Standing on either side of the door into Blosjo's room, the spies glanced down the hallway to make sure they were alone. It was still early in the evening, so the corridor was empty and quiet. Too quiet, Casey decided, since there wasn't a noise coming from the room.

He reached around his back and slipped out his SIG. "C'mon," he mouthed, tilting his head towards the door.

Sarah, for some reason, hesitated. "What if Bryce is right?"

"When has he been right, Walker?"

"Point," she whispered back at him. "But we _are_ going to blow Chuck's cover."

Casey motioned with his gun, and mouthed, "Fine. One more time if you can get him to open the door. If not ..." He tipped his muzzle. Meaning, the _guns blazing _option.

"Room Service," Sarah called, knocking on the cabin door. "Did you order two rib eyes, Mr. Blosjo?"

Casey rolled his eyes.

Sarah gave him a look and lifted a hand, spreading her fingers. _We have to give him one more chance. Five seconds._

The problem was there was no answer. So much for chances.

Looking over her shoulder, Casey saw her bring her hand around to the small of her back, slipping her fingers around the Smith and Wesson she had tucked in her waistband. She nodded at Casey, a signal that it was time to take the lid off of this mission. Reluctance was there in her eyes, because they both knew this was it. The associate would flee.

The cold hard fact, slapping them in the face, was that the risk to the asset outweighed apprehending the man who had so far been a damn ghost anyway.

Casey lined up his back to the wall a few feet to the right of the door. His held his SIG, one hand cradling the other steadily, and waiting for Blosjo to open the door. "Count of three," he mouthed.

Sarah nodded.

They cocked their heads, listening, but there was nothing. No footsteps. No sound of the kid's voice drifting beyond the cabin's walls, and no doubt, it'd be reaching that screechy nervous pitch by now.

How the hell could it be so quiet? There was no doubt they were in there. The sprint from the closet to the door was no more than sixty feet.

"Looks like they ordered a foot long," Casey said. Pushing off from the wall, he moved in front of the door and sucked in a breath. "Time to deliver."

In the time it took for Sarah to level her gun and point, Casey lifted his boot and kicked the door in.

It landed on inside of the room with a crack and a _thud_.

Firearms leveled, every inch of their bodies taut, Casey and then Sarah skulked through the doorway.

Sarah tipped her head towards the empty sofa. _What the hell,_ she meant. _Where are they?_

Casey looked over to squint at the imprint in the sofa's cushions, the glasses of champagne. They had just been sitting there, and only moments ago, the spies watched as Chuck shirked away from the man, chattering like a moron. Watched Blosjo's hands drifting over places that little bastard had no business putting them.

Now the living area was empty. Casey pointed his chin towards the bedroom and arched a brow. Sarah gave him a look that said _get real_.

Okay, not likely. He didn't expect that in the past sixty seconds since the audio had dropped that their awkward and shy asset had thrown the mark to the bed. He shrugged at her, because they were going in, anyway.

_Three, two, one ..._ Casey counted down on his fingers, and at the designated signal, they dodged around the corner to the bedroom suite.

Empty.

Casey blinked, felt a ripple of pressure along his arm as he held the gun. "Christ." Striding into the marble bathroom and seeing it was empty, he turned to Walker. "I'm going to kill Larkin."

"This wasn't his fault," Sarah said, her voice sounding oddly hollow. She lowered her weapon, her clear blue eyes searching over the room. It was hard to quantify the degree of fear, but Casey could see it rising within them. Suspected his were no better. "God, Chuck," she whispered. "This isn't possible."

"Guess again, Walker," Casey muttered, tossing the empty bottle of champagne on the floor with disgust. "Fuck." The bosses were really going to hate getting this phone call.

The nuclear technology dealer was gone. So was the asset.

In his head, Casey tried to tell himself that his spurt of cold panic was simply for national security, and nothing else. Not Chuck.

Funny, but he didn't succeed.

**-x- End The Odd Quadruple Chapter Nine –x-**

I was chatting with my beta reader a few days ago, and it made me think of Casey and Sarah sending the kid in to seduce Sasha Banachek. What, do they never learn? *insert Casey grunt here*

Thanks, again and again, to those of you reading and commenting. I'm writing the very last scene of this story right now, so things are wrapping up – for me anyway. You, not so much ;)

Til next time,

-skye

18


	10. Chapter 10

**The Odd Quadruple**

**Chapter Ten**

-x-

"Have you ever wondered why they have the art attached to the wall like that?" Chuck tugged on one corner of the framed picture over the sofa, letting out a nervous laugh. "I mean, think about it. Do they keep an army of starving artists locked in a warehouse somewhere, all painting the same buttercups-"

"Interesting." Blosjo got up from the sofa and shot Chuck a smile. "Maybe you'd like to come out on the balcony with me." His voice lowered, a hint of playfulness attempting to lure him out. "It's a gorgeous night. Last one of the trip, kiddo. Come on. You can see all of the lights of the city."

"I'm actually afraid of heights," Chuck said.

"You'll regret it if you don't," David replied, and beckoning with one hand, he crossed through the doorway that led out to the balcony. "I promise you won't fall."

"Well ..." Chuck let out a pent-up breath. What was he supposed to do? He had to follow the blond weasel, or he would never get the Intel they needed. And if that happened, forget falling. Casey wouldn't object to the Intersect being heaved off the balcony. "Just don't sit on the edge and pretend to plunge to your death as a joke, okay?"

"Pretty Woman?" Blosjo laughed and went to the railing. "But if you jump in to save me, it might be worth it."

Oh, brother. Worst pick-up line ever. Somewhere, Casey and Sarah were snickering.

Funny, but he couldn't hear them snicker.

Chuck had his hand halfway to his ear bud before he thought it best not to touch it with Blosjo watching. "Remember, no pushing," the kid said grudgingly. Climbing up from the sofa, he pulling up short at the doorway. "Here I am. Out on the balcony. High. Very ... high."

David shook his head, another light smile crossing his face. "Technically, you still have one foot in the living room."

"I'm good," Chuck answered, folding his arms a bit protectively. "But maybe you're right. It's not as bad at night, I guess, if you can't see all the way down."

"You can't see all the way up the coast, either, if you stand there, you know." David leaned on the railing, patting the spot next to him. "Come on. How about one last look at Cabo before we ship off for LA?"

"That's not until ten. I think the last shore excursion returns at nine."

David raised a brow. "You've memorized the ship's schedule, I suppose?"

"No, but it's on Morgan's itinerary." Chuck blushed. "Uh, for informational purposes only."

"I see." David's eyes swept over him, amused.

Chuck waggled a hand in a _you don't want to know _gesture and rested his back against the glass door. "I'm fine here, though, thanks. I mean, do you really think getting five feet closer makes the view that much better?"

"Have it your way, then." David's smile broadened, making the dimples in his cheeks more prominent. "I'll be over here enjoying the night breeze and the lights from the shore ... all by myself."

Great, Chuck groaned to himself. Why in the world had he gone to Bryce and Casey for flirting lessons? With this guy, Chuck had barely had to use any of those horrifyingly embarrassing teachings. He had only smiled, or flushed at his overt advances, and the man seemed to notice it all.

It didn't seem real. It felt ... dirty. Chuck didn't have to remind himself that the man standing on the wide balcony with him was a criminal mastermind, and not just a random person who happened to be attracted to him. He hurt people for a living – it struck the kid that Casey did the same - but one was for the greater good. One saved innocent lives from people like the man watching him.

"Okay, but while you're over there by yourself," Chuck said, "I'll be over here enjoying the fact that I'm not light headed because I'm dangling seventy feet high on a balcony over the ocean."

"That's ... too bad." David let out resigned huff.

"Uh, what's too bad?"

Not giving an answer, Blosjo turned on his heel to face the kid, and slowly the dimpled smile dissolved into scrutiny. "Little idiot," he said. The lightness in his tone of just a minute ago fell away. "I was hoping you'd make this easy for me."

"Easy ... for you?" Chuck asked, thankful he could keep his voice even. He could feel sweat pooling under his shirt though his insides were frozen. The abrupt turn was the same as a stiff breeze kicking up.

The other man's expression became cold enough to make him flinch. "Why do people always have to do it the hard way?" Blosjo wondered.

Chuck swallowed, feeling the cool press of the glass along his spine. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Huh." David's blue eyes coursed over the kid. "You're not exactly the tiniest person they could've found to stuff with the Intersect, are you?"

"The ... Intersect?" Chuck felt his stomach bottom out. Those words. Blosjo knows. Briefly, he closed his eyes to listen hard, waiting to hear orders through the mic. Or better yet, at the door.

_Federal agents! On the ground, now. Chuck, get out of here!_

Nothing.

"You were Bryce's roommate at Stanford? Really?" and David tilted his head at him, chuckling darkly. "I have to tell you, kid, a fumbling idiot like you? You'd be the last person on earth who should have it."

Where the hell were those guys! Couldn't they hear this maniac?!

Chuck held up his palms, hoping Blosjo wouldn't notice if he slithered back a step. _Buy time_, _numb nuts_, he heard gruffly in his head. It was scary that Casey had found his way so snugly in there, and was now giving his usual orders, served with a side of snark.

"Whatever you're talking about," Chuck said, collecting himself, "maybe ... maybe this date was a mistake. You see, I'm usually into people who are ..." – less criminally insane! – "taller? Maybe guys who enjoy nerdy charm? So, if you don't mind, I'll just -"

"Playing stupid doesn't suit you, kid," David remarked casually, even as he reached for an object on the café table, brandishing something that most definitely looked like a gun, but ... not a gun. The strange apparatus had a wider barrel than anything he had tried not to touch in Casey's apartment.

Chuck sensed a fuzzy recollection of what it could be, and that was only from one of Morgan's illegally copied games. Mirror's Edge, maybe. The kid was too absorbed at the time to really notice it.

Either way, it didn't matter to Chuck when Blosjo pointed it at the kid's midsection.

That made Chuck blink and lift his hands. "Please don't."

"Too bad about the heights. You're not going to like this very much."

Chuck's hands started shaking. "Oh, trust me. I'm already past not liking this and going straight to _are you out of your freaking mind!"_

"We have to leave the ship now – you and I," David told him, adjusting the weapon. "I've never had this done to me, so I can't tell you what it feels like –"

"Wh-_what_? What is that thing?"

"- but don't worry. It's not painful. You'll only be incapacitated for as long as the electrodes are touching you –"

"Don't _worry_?" Chuck stared in shock at the creepy gun. "Is that supposed to be comforting – with that ... _that thing_ pointed at me?!"

"Sorry, kiddo, but I need you to cooperate while I attach the harness and the cable."

"Harness?" Oh God.

"So let's get moving, shall we?" David shrugged and pressed a switch on the side of it. Something hummed. "I'm fairly certain your babysitters aren't going to let the precious Intersect out of their sight for longer than two minutes. Can't have you causing a scene, can I?" His finger, resting on the trigger, began to gradually _pull_.

"No!" Chuck tried to squirm backwards, but all movement ended at the sound of a _swish_. A pair of circular darts sped at him. He sucked in air through his teeth, seeing but not being able to avoid the pointed hooks from hitting him. They came like the freaking wind.

Helpless, he winced.

_Thwick. Thwick._

Horror hit like a sock to the gut - then pain. God, it hurt like hell. The barbed probes, reminding him of snake's teeth, hooked into his clothing, penetrating his skin.

Chuck started to open his mouth, wanting to yell for his white knights –

Jello. Every part of him. Not fair, he thought, in the first split second. His muscles, his bones, even his brain felt like a gelatinous mess. This is what it felt like to be instantly paralyzed. And this was why he never wanted to know that particular sensation.

Unable to make his legs work, the kid crumpled to the deck. _Oh, crap,_ was the only thing his brain could string together. Why would Casey and Sarah leave him like this, with a crazy man and a Taser?

He blinked and tried to remember to breathe. A pair of shoes came into view. Whatever Blosjo was doing to him, he was in a hurry to get them out of there, and Chuck felt a new wave of horror blooming, because he couldn't move at all to stop him.

Leather bands, sturdy, wrapped around him. Chuck couldn't feel the man's hands on him, adjusting a wide strap and cinching it down. He could only watch while it happened, as if it was someone else being attached to a harness around his thighs and waist, and he was just a floating observer.

"See? Now that part didn't hurt, did it?" With a droll look, Blosjo climbed into a similar harness and secured it to a cable. "No worries. I arranged it so you won't need to hang on. You just get to lay there. And slobber, or whatever you're doing, hm?"

A hand came out to tap his cheek. Chuck couldn't feel it.

But God, if he could move, he wanted to punch that smirk off his face.

"Keep in mind, Chuck," he heard Blosjo say. "You'll be safe. I'm not going to drown something as valuable as the Intersect."

Comforting, asshole. Chuck had closed his eyes, but that annoying voice chastised him again, ordering him to watch where he was being taken. Except when he did look, he wished to hell he hadn't done that, since he only saw black water swirling and rushing under him. There were lights bobbing, the hum of engines getting louder. More disturbing than that, they were dangling over the water like two hooked fish. _Why_? Hadn't he told the jerk he hated heights?

If it weren't for the harness and the cable lowering them to _somewhere_ – and oh, the Taser, which had morphed all of his wiry muscles into a pile of goo – he'd kick the little prick for that.

-x-

"Casey? What's going on?" It had to be frustration that made Sarah open and close a bathroom closet, because Casey was fairly certain she didn't believe the asset and his date were hanging out in there. "People don't disappear," she gritted out, and stalking back into the bedroom, she pushed a hand through her hair. "Where are they?"

"Larkin. Incompetent, arrogant–" Casey had prepared a plethora of contempt to pile on the little dickhead, but his mouth dried up there. He was too busy staring at the glass door that led to the balcony, now open a few inches. Only the edge of the curtain moved, flapping lightly in the breeze. How the hell had they missed that? "Son of a bitch," he snapped. "You've gotta be kidding."

"What is it? What do you -" Sarah halted, and turning, she followed his line of sight to the glass double doors. "Shit."

"Sarah, I think I figured it out," came a voice from the doorway.

The agents swung around with their guns pointed just in time to see Bryce barging into the room. Missed opportunity, Casey thought. Should've taken the shot right then. He could've pled his way out of that one – he snuck up on them, didn't he? - and Walker no doubt would vouch for it.

"Figured what it out?" Sarah managed.

"They're not here."

Casey fought back the urge to grab him by the scruff of his neck. Instead, he strode past his partner towards the balcony. "Walker, if your firearm discharges by accident right now, it won't go in the report."

"Thanks, Bryce." Sarah put a hand over her forehead before she turned to follow Casey towards the glass doors. "We figured it out."

"We were being jammed," her ex-partner felt the need to add, "until about thirty seconds ago. I was able to isolate the noise – but it was coming from –"

"The balcony," Sarah finished.

"Yeah, how did you -?"

"Christ." Ignoring him, Casey nearly tore the door off the hinges when he yanked it open the rest of the way. "Don't know what we'd do without you, CIA, but I sure as hell would like to find out."

Footsteps behind him told Casey that Sarah, and then Bryce, had joined him out on the balcony. It was the kind of evening – a silky black blanket of sky sprayed with stars – that would cause anyone, under different circumstances, to stop and feel the warm breeze, or listen to the waves rolling under them.

"Why tonight," Sarah murmured, giving away that she was thinking the same. "Where are you, Chuck?"

Looking out, Casey could see Cabo San Lucas lit up in the distance. Hotels, resorts, casinos, and a million other places a slippery little prick like Blosjo could grab the asset and hide. It made his blood boil just thinking of the swaggering look Blosjo would have on his face, thinking he pulled one over on the NSA.

Casey stared out over the water, realizing that so far, Blosjo had done exactly that. What bothered him more was that the spike of adrenaline pushing through his chest had nothing to do with facing a firing squad when Beckman heard this. It had everything to do with putting his asset –_Chuck_ – in grave danger when it was his job to protect him.

A muscle flexed in his jaw. He turned to Sarah and saw that she had been watching him. "I know," she said quietly. "But that's not going to happen while we're still alive. Forget about Bryce right now – and everything else. We just have one objective." _Find Chuck. Bring him home for Christmas._

Casey looked away from her, walking right up to the railing. By doing that, he could see straight down the side of the ship. His eyes focused, and when they did, they drew into dangerous slits.

Two yachts were idled, bobbing in the water along the port side of the Miracle.

"Oh, you little ..." he growled, squeezing the railing until his knuckles turned white.

"Casey, what is it?" Sarah came up behind him, looked down. Her eyes flickered with anger. "Chuck. He's down there."

"Walker, take this," Casey said, already emptying his pockets and other hiding places of extraneous weaponry.

"Wait. Jump? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Sarah put a hand on his shoulder until he glanced down at it. It was enough to make her pull it away. "You can't just jump from here."

"It's – what? Only about seventy or eighty feet." He had one boot on the railing. "Call it in."

"You may not survive that, Casey." Sarah jerked on his shirt, as if she could budge a human boulder. "What good is it to Chuck if you get yourself killed?"

"I should go," Bryce told them. It surprised Casey that he volunteered, and the NSA agent had to stop himself from giving him a little helping hand over the railing. "He's my friend."

"Ex-friend, and you've done enough," Casey felt the need to point out, and he slanted a look at Sarah. "I've done ninety before with only a few broken bones. No damage to major organs."

One more time, he turned to the railing and settled his boot on a rung, but he felt her pesky hand on his shirt. The blonde just wasn't giving up.

"Casey, look." When he did, Sarah got down on her haunches. "A cable. It has to be attached to the yacht. They used it as a pulley. I think that's how they got down so quickly." She blew out a breath, long wisps of hair flipping from her face. "God, Chuck hates heights. I'm surprised we didn't hear him screaming."

As soon as she said it, Sarah bit down on her lip. It was too late. They were all thinking the same thing. Each spy speculated on the dozen or so reasons he wouldn't have called out, and none of them bode well for the Human Intersect.

"Give me something I can use as a harness," Casey ordered, snapping his fingers at Bryce. "Something canvas or leather. Don't just stand there collecting flies, Larkin. Move it!"

-x-

"I thought that went pretty well for a first date. What would you give it? Maybe a seven point five?"

"You tased me!" Chuck sputtered.

"Hence the two point five deduction," Blosjo answered dryly, and the minute Chuck stumbled, his face hardened. "Get going. Think I can't tell you're dragging your feet?"

Chuck pointed a scowl past his shoulder. His hands, raised in the air, were trembling, though he really hoped Blosjo wouldn't point that out. "I always walk like this when someone has a gun shoved into the middle of my back."

In answer, Blosjo poked it a little harder.

"Ow!"

"Shut up. Walk."

"It's a little hard, you know. I'm still shaking from being dangled over the side of the ship."

"You weren't dangled," Blosjo observed, steering him along the boat deck. "You were in a harness."

"I couldn't move!" Chuck argued, tripping over a deck chair. Terror made him feel every part of his body in excruciating detail, so he tried to block out the vision of being strapped to a cable and foisted onto the yacht. "Hey. Watch it. Where're we going?"

Blosjo seemed to like talking with the gun instead of real answers. Again, the tip of the barrel dug into the small of his back. "Get down there. Watch your head. It's the only part of you we have to keep intact."

"Down there?" Chuck stopped at the top of the narrow staircase leading down to a place he was sure he didn't want to go. "I've – I've never been on a yacht like this one before," he said quickly. He clung tighter to the deck rail. "It's got to be fifty ... sixty feet? Why don't you show me around up here first?"

"God, you are an idiot." Blosjo sighed, and using the gun to prod him yet again, Chuck had no choice but to shuffle down the half dozen stairs. "If I didn't need you to walk, I'd tase you again."

"You know, you should try it sometime. It's not as fun from the other side of the –"

"Go. Through there." His captor reached around him to open a door, shoving him through it. "I have a little test for you, and for your sake, I hope you pass."

"Because you haven't tortured me enough tonight?"

"Move it."

The order came with a thrust, giving him no other option but to step into the dimly lit salon. Blinking, Chuck took a quick mental inventory, taking in the sight of a large flat screen TV, mood lighting, and a plush sectional sofa that took up a good deal of floor space . He would've been terribly impressed by it all if it weren't for the whole 'kidnapping the Intersect' thing that was unraveling before his eyes.

"Nice, can we leave now?" Chuck said. Looking for any way out, he glanced uneasily at the blackness beyond the expanse of windows, wanting nothing more in that moment than to see his handlers rappelling in by helicopter, bursting through the glass panes, and guns blazing.

That didn't happen. Chuck held his breath, waiting, but there was nothing to upset the cream-colored rugs, a glass-topped bar with leather stools, and art work that he suspected cost more than he made in a year.

He had no idea how he was going to get out of this.

"Make it fast," Blosjo said. Turning him towards the bar, he put a hand on Chuck's shoulder and gave him a rough push. "His handlers will be looking for him. And they'll be pissed." He thought about it, and added, "One of them is a big mother, too."

Chuck's eyes widened at the strange man Blosjo had spoken to, standing next to the curved bar and carefully pouring two cocktails. Him? The mysterious technological weapons buyer?

Who else could it be? The image Sarah had captured in a grainy photo, the one that the CIA couldn't identify. The man who never appeared again. The ghost, they had called him. Well, that confirmed it. Chuck was screwed.

"You've got to be kidding," the man said, coming around the bar to get closer. He examined his face until Chuck felt like squirming. "That's the one?"

Why does _everybody_ say that?

"The who?" Chuck asked. It took everything in his willpower not to scramble backwards as the man approached. The gun in the middle of his back, however, had something to do with staying put. "Whoever you're looking for, I can see that even you're surprised, so I'm sure you have the wrong guy."

The man chuckled. Chuck heard the scratchy sandpaper of a smoker's voice. "Your payment will depend on it being the right one," the stranger said, giving Blosjo a fleeting yet icy look.

It? If Chuck wasn't shaking, he'd be miffed by that.

But something about the voice cut through the panic. It stuck in his head. A lilt, an intonation that didn't belong.

Chuck angled his head slightly and squinted at the nondescript face – oddly nondescript. "Who are you?" he asked.

The man set down his drink and brought up a few fingers, rubbing the hollow of his neck. "Let's see if you pass the test, hm?"

"A test?" Chuck licked his lips. "Generally, I'm a decent test-taker, but ... I haven't studied, and it doesn't seem fair to spring on a pop quiz without giving me a chance to at least skim the notes or – _oh_.

He broke off there and stared.

The man had stopped rubbing his neck, and like the skin of an onion, slowly peeled off his face.

"Oh ... that's just ..." Chuck's eyebrows went up. "Ew?"

This was his entire fault. He should've figured that out. Not Sarah and Casey. After all, wasn't he the one who had sat through dozens of iconic cheesy villain movies where the mask comes off, revealing the face of the villain? Seriously, chances were his handlers had never even _heard_ of Scooby Doo.

Chuck forced himself to breathe though his throat had closed up tight. Vaguely, and at the worst possible time, it occurred to him that if it weren't for the life and death situation, Morgan would love to be here for this.

The skull cap wig came off next, loosening waves of long dark hair. "God, I hated that thing," the woman said. The kid watched, loose jawed, as she discarded a jacket, and covered his eyes when the svelte figure swiveled her hips to remove her tailored trousers. "You can move your hand and open your eyes, lost boy. I want to see your face."

Chuck peeked through his fingers to see the woman adjusting a dress. "You're - you're not a he." He gaped. "You're a she!"

"And you're a genius." The woman in the painted-on red dress arched a brow and turned to Blosjo. "I'm skeptical, I have to say, that this is the one."

"He is. Test him."

A worry line between her eyebrows appeared, but the woman tugged a necklace out of her shirt. It was a silver heart, Chuck saw. Not a cutesy representation of a heart, but an anatomical heart from a blob of metal, perfect in every detail. Tiny valves, the chain looped through an artery -

Oh no.

The Intersect wheeled back on its racket and backhanded his brain against the far wall of the court.

_Monkey_

_A protest march_

_The Lincoln memorial_

_The blurry image of a man screaming_

_Palm trees being battered in a hurricane_

_A curly-haired girl in a dress eating a slice of pizza_

_Monkey_

Chuck gasped for air. "Venezuela. The black _Arachne._"

"There." Blosjo nodded, jamming the gun against the ribs, making him jump. "Satisfied? Or we can have a second show, but the price might go up."

The woman tilted her head at him, making the kid feel like a shiny new tricycle under the Christmas tree. Her face darkened in fascination at the possibilities. "I trust you know me now, Mr. Intersect?"

-x-

"That's good enough. Get your hands out of the way."

"Almost done," Bryce said, tying another knot in the final band of canvass.

Casey batted his hands out the way for him. "Enough. I'm heading down."

"Wow. Just trying to help out the team, Casey."

"You've _helped_ enough tonight." Casey gave a good hard tug on the improvised harness seat that they had pulled together from a canvass messenger bag and two pairs of jeans. He quickly stepped into it and began tying off the ends around the cable. "That's it. Walker, tell Beckman I need the tactical team wheels up ten minutes ago -"

"Hang on, Casey." Sarah stepped out onto the balcony, holding something in her hands. "I have to tie this to the harness."

"Tie what?"

She held up a makeshift rope that looked to be remnants of the window blind's cords and chains. "Hold still," she said, her fingers tying off the end around one of the harnesses.

"What the hell is that?"

"That's to pull the harness back up here when you're done." Her expression taut with determination, she tested the rope by giving it a pull. "I'll be right behind you."

There was a short pause while Casey looked at her and then seventy feet down to the black water. He nodded, breathed out, and stepped over the balcony.

Bryce looked down as well. "What happens if you fall?"

Casey shrugged. "I guess I'll make a hell of a splash."

-x-

"I'm certain I don't need to remind you of the terms." David put a tight hand on Chuck's shoulder blade and hustled him into the center of the room. "You got what you wanted. Where's _mine_."

"Whoa. Just a minute," Chuck said. His shaky hands rose in a peacekeeping gesture. "Aren't you stepping out of bounds here? I thought you were a nuclear technology weapons dealer. Since when did you give that up for human trafficking? Because newsflash here: I'm not a weapon. I mean, I can barely throw a decent punch – and only then when I have a controller in my hand."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Blosjo looked away from the Venezuelan woman, his gaze traveling over the kid's body. The smirk made Chuck ill. "Though it's true you're not my usual transaction ... with the right treatment, many believe you – the _Intersect_ – will prove to be a powerful weapon."

"If you bring my purchase this way, Mr. Blosjo," the woman offered, motioning to a laptop on the bar, "I'll transfer the money into your account. You can verify it when I'm finished – and then I'll be on my way. We have a plane to catch."

"We – a plane? Ow!" Chuck barely avoided tripping over an ottoman. The only reason he didn't was that Blosjo rudely steered him around it by jabbing the muzzle against his spine. "Would you stop doing that?"

Rolling his eyes at him, David propelled him again, signaling he should follow her. "You might want to have a warning label tattooed on his ass before you hand him off to your buyers," he muttered. "It should say Never Shuts Up."

"I'm sure my buyer will have a cure for that." The dark haired woman he knew as Arachne sat down at the bar and began to type. "I have to ask, Mr. Blosjo. What do you plan on doing with three quarters of a billion dollars?"

Chuck's head shot up at the dollar figure. "You're really doing this? You – you tased me, you dropped me from a ship – and now you're selling me to the highest bidder?!"

David patted his cheek. "What can I say? I hate second dates. Besides, nuclear weapons have lost some of their panache."

"I didn't realize they had it."

"Hm. But finding you – now that's more dangerous. Your secrets are incredibly valuable, kiddo. It was just a matter of throwing myself out there as the bait to lure the CIA in." He snorted. "Hell, did they jump, too. All it took was a few well-placed leaks of a deal, and that I would be on board with a stranger."

Chuck felt the blood drain out of his face. It was getting more difficult to hold it together, but he straightened stubbornly and did his best to glower at him. "You set us up."

"Aw. You make it sounds like a bad thing, Chuck."

The mocking tone made Chuck hate him more. "But ... me?"

"I knew they'd bring the Intersect on board to try and determine who I was meeting." He glanced over at Arachne as her fingers tapped the keyboard. "The rumor was that it had to be Bryce Larkin, of course ... but he didn't flash." He lifted his head, pinned the kid with a wry look. "Imagine my surprise when you did."

"It's complete," the woman said, closing the laptop. "You can verify the transaction now, Mr. Blosjo."

"The damn pictures," Chuck mumbled. He pushed a hand through his hair. They were beyond trembling, but there was no sense in playing dumb anymore. "How you'd know they were in the Intersect?"

David winked. "Any secrets are available for the right price, Chuck. Trust me, there are people on the inside willing to barter."

"Did you say trust you?" Chuck stared at him, offended. He then made a show of looking around the large salon before turning his gaze on the blond crook. "I feel this is pointing out the obvious, but you're aiming a gun at me!"

"Hey, if it's any consolation, I wasn't lying about you being cute." Blosjo gave him a cocky grin, tucked the gun in his waistband, and slipped a phone from his pocket. "I should warn you to watch out for the inner agency drones willing to sell hot ticket items. Like the pictures. But it's probably too late for that, don't you think?"

"Wow. Thanks, anyway."

David ignored him by tapping out a few commands on his iPhone, verifying the transaction. Whatever he saw, it made him flash the dimples. "No, sweet cheeks. I should be thanking you."

"That's good to know," Chuck said. "When evil doers need quick access to their accounts, of course there's an app for that. Like we needed another reason to hate Apple?"

"Shut up."

"Is everything in order?" the woman asked.

"Very good," David confirmed, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Nothing like a good bidding war to drive up the price. I hope your buyers enjoy the product. It doesn't come with a further warranty. What happens will be up to them."

Chuck swallowed hard. That nervy blond creep. "How can you talk about me like this? I'm a person."

"My buyers are aware of the risks," the brunette said. Moving around the glass top bar, she pulled a small black case out from a shelf underneath it. "They've ... acquired the services of our country's top scientists."

"I – I'm not authorized to leave the country," Chuck mentioned, since it seemed pertinent. A popping noise made him jolt, and he looked over to see the woman opening the curious box. The lid blocked his view, but he could tell she was slipping something out of it. "I should tell you, that would make a few people very, _very_ angry."

"He'll have to have the appropriate ... _motivation_," Blosjo said, "to do his job properly."

Chuck raised his chin. "Nothing can motivate me to hurt others."

"Really." Taking hold of Chuck's forearm, Blosjo seemed to be ensuring he would stand still, and the kid did _not_ want to find out the reason for that. "There's a file of information I'll forward along on what I learned tonight," he told the woman. "He has a best friend. And a sister."

_Not Morgan. And please, not Ellie. _

"You son of a bitch – ow!" Chuck couldn't help the wince as David's fingers dug into his forearm. "Let me go!"

"Oh, and he seems quite fond of his handlers." While the little thug studied his shocked face, enjoying the provocation, Chuck felt something black and oozy filling his stomach. "Anyway, consider it a buyer's bonus. You can use it as the carrot ... or stick. It's up to you."

"Thank you, Mr. Blosjo. My associates will be pleased with your diligence." The dark haired woman lifted a slender object out of the box and approached him, dress swishing and hips swaying. "Keep him still, please."

Not that he noticed her dress, Blosjo's smirk, or anything else, because the only thing Chuck could see was the needle and syringe she held between her fingers.

"No, no, no!" As her intention registered, Chuck jolted backwards. He tried to kick out, to get in one swing, but David seemed to anticipate that and held his arms tighter. "Please don't! I hate needles!"

"It could be worse," David suggested. "It could be in the ass."

The uh-oh filled his brain about a half second before the content of the scary needle filled a vein in his arm. It hurt.

God, this date sucked.

"Try to relax, Intersect," the woman said, watching him as the syringe emptied. "That will make you compliant for the journey,"

Relax? Within five seconds, the edges of his vision got foggy. The world immediately became so warm. Like a Jacuzzi bubbling between his ears.

Out of the fog, Chuck felt a humiliating pat on his cheek. "Chuck?"

He blinked. Blinked again.

David's face swam into view. "I do like tall men, kid," he heard him say down a tunnel. "I just like 750 million dollars a bit more."

-x-

"Hang on ... doing great," Sarah said softly. The reassurance was more for herself than her partner, for the reason he would only scoff if he heard her quiet encouragement. In the end, the man didn't know the meaning of the word failure. "Almost there ..."

She leaned over the rail and watched as Casey extended his arm over his head, taking the next length of cable in his hands. Swinging from the harness, lowering himself, he then reached out again and repeated the motion. One hand over the other, moving along foot by foot, his large form slowly disappearing over the black water below.

Bryce sidled up next to the rail. "How's he doing?"

"He just about has it." The hastily constructed harness seemed to do its job, and she begrudgingly had to give Bryce the credit for that. "About ten more feet."

Barely audible over the lapping of the waves, Sarah made out the sound of a thump beneath them. It was followed by a rattling noise as Casey removed the harness. After a few seconds, Sarah felt a jerk on the cable, guessing that was his signal he was on the deck, and that they could pull the harness back.

She realized then that she had been holding her breath. There were at least a half dozen ways that this could've gone horribly wrong. The cable could've been disengaged. The harness could've broken. Someone from the boat below could've taken easy target practice if they had spotted him.

Sarah shook her head. It was best not to consider those scenarios. Undeniably, she had grown quite fond of the big hard ass, and she wasn't partial to the idea of breaking in a new partner. Or scraping this one off the side of a cruise ship.

"Pull it up, Bryce." She reached over to grab the line. "I have to get down there." _And kick the asses of whoever had anything to do with this. _

"Here it comes." Next to her on the balcony, Bryce tugged on the cords and thin chains they had cobbled together to make the rope. While Sarah peered down into the dark, watching a black blob she presumed was Casey lurk along the deck, her ex-partner reached over and grabbed the harness when it came within striking distance.

"Ouch," Sarah said, hearing the distinct crunching sound of either Casey's elbow – or who knows, it could've been his forehead – drive into another body. She quickly turned and held out her hand. "Here. Give me the harness – what are you doing?"

Bryce had already stepped into the harness and was fastening it around his waist. He looked up and put on that wheedling grin that used to do wonders for her. "You'll be up next, Sarah. I'm getting down there."

It was typical Bryce, jumping in headlong when it came time to be valiant. It also reminded her that she once found his trait of nobleness to be quite charming. Now it was just another pain in her ass.

Sarah gave him a chilly look. She half considered making him get out of the harness, but that would only burn time. A luxury she didn't have.

"All right, go." Sarah grabbed onto this shirt to steady him as he climbed over the balcony. "Just hurry, okay. Chuck is down there."

Bryce nodded and pushed off from the balcony, his body swinging from the harness in midair, then immediately jerking when the cable caught hold. "Got it."

"Easy, Bryce," Sarah whispered, eyeing his every move. Where Casey's approach was all muscle and grizzly bear, Bryce conveyed the manner of a sleek black panther. His technique cut the time in half. For that, she was grateful, because the quicker he was down, the quicker she could get the harness and follow in their tracks.

"Good ... almost there." In the murkiness below, Sarah watched as a shadowy figure leapt onto the deck. "That's it."

Giving him another second, Sarah grabbed the rope and pulled, ready to haul up the harness.

But instantly, the steel cable became slack. She heard it slap the side of the ship, directly under her.

"Bryce," she hissed. "What the hell happened?" Reaching for the other end of the cable, still attached to the balcony's railing, she gave it a pull. It swayed loosely, no longer connected as a lead line to the yacht. "The _cable_. Bryce. It came unhooked."

There was a pause from the yacht below. "Sorry, Sarah," Bryce said, his voice deceptively soft, carrying up to her over the water. "I can't do that."

"What?" Her eyes strained to distinguish him against the dark. "It's right here. Attach it, and let's get this job done."

"No, that's not what I mean," he replied at last, quietly. "Look, I don't want to get into it now, Sarah, but I have a second chance to prove myself.

"Prove – to who?" Sarah curled her hands into fists and leaned forward, her hair draped on either side of her face. "Bryce, explain."

"Graham ... Beckman. At Thanksgiving – they asked me to go after Fulcrum. On my own. Off the grid."

"What does this have to do with the mission, Bryce?" she said between her teeth. "Attach the cable and let me get the harness."

"That's the problem though," Bryce answered. "Don't you get it, Sarah? I have to do this without you." Within the stillness of the night air, she could feel betrayal rising. "Don't ask how, but when you chose not to come with me that night ... well, the consulate dinner? It didn't go as we had planned. This mission was Graham's way of benching me."

"Bryce." By now, it took her all resolve not to pull her fire arm and try to shoot him. "Chuck and Casey are down there and in danger! What does this have to do with _you_?"

"This is the way I have to do it," he said, and she could see him beginning to walk down the deck, away from the hook where he should've attached the cable.

"What? Where are you _going?"_

"If I don't show the brass I can do this on my own, without the great Sarah Walker as my partner, I'll never make it any further in the agency."

"This ... is about me?!"

He stopped to look up at her, his words cool and measured. "It was suggested that perhaps I was the weak link in our partnership."

"So this stunt is to prove you can do this without me?" She let out a curse under her breath. "Bryce, stop."

"And you can count on it, Sarah. I will."

"Wait-"

But as she watched him, he gave a sad wave at her and disappeared around a curved corner of the yacht's bow.

Sarah stood straight and slammed her hand on the railing. If Casey wanted to shoot Bryce for this, she made a mental note not to get in his way this time.

"God, now what?" she said to herself, and she looked up to the night sky for inspiration, or at least to sort out her options.

Damn Bryce Larkin. If Chuck and Casey were harmed ... or worse, she would spend every waking hour tracking him down like a pissed off and vengeful mother bear -

Sarah shot one more death glare in the direction of her soon to be ex-teammate before training kicked in. Her eyes swept the details of her surroundings, prepared to pounce on any alternative with odds better than fifty-fifty of not getting her killed. Because if she didn't survive, how else would she punish Bryce for this?

Oh, because he _was_ _so_ going to be punished.

As Sarah pulled her hair away from her face, thoughts chasing one after the other, she looked up. Her body went still when she spotted the answer. "That's it," she said. "Got to get up there."

She glanced up one more time look at the row of white and orange life boats, suspended from the pool deck by wire cables and winches. Cursing the fact it would waste precious seconds to get up to the boat deck, Sarah dropped the cable and sprinted for the door. Bryce left her no other choice.

He would pay dearly for that transgression.

-x-

Where the hell was his back-up? Were Walker and Larkin playing patty-cake up there?

Casey rolled his eyes, and with his gun leading, he poked his head around the corner, searching for the staircase that led below deck. The two goons he had dispensed with a minute ago acted as if there was a little private party going on down there that someone didn't want disturbed.

Keeping his back against one of the walls, he prowled along the outer deck until he came upon a doorway. Opening the door a crack, he saw stairs that led down to another door. A sliver of light leaked out from it.

"Yeah? Sorry to be the party crasher," Casey muttered. He crept down the stairwell, his shoes barely making a squeak. At the fourth step, he stopped and angled his head towards a sound.

Voices. Muffled. He couldn't make out a word, but at least one was a man's voice. He guessed Blosjo, but where the hell was Chuck?

Casey took another step, then one more, his back straight to the wall. When he reached the bottom of the landing, he led with the SIG, and then peered through the partially open door.

Blosjo stood next to a large sectional sofa that faced in the opposite direction. In this position, he could only see the top of the head of whoever was seated on the sofa. The mystery cleared up pretty rapidly when he noticed a dark brown and distinctively curly head.

For whatever reason, Chuck was slumped down, neck resting on the back of the couch. Strangely, he wasn't babbling a million miles an hour, which immediately made the hairs on Casey's arm stand up. It wasn't like the kid to not talk his captors to death.

A woman in a red silken dress stood near a curved bar, packing up a small black case. Casey squinted at the Latin version of Marilyn Monroe, and it didn't matter where she had come from, because there was only one place she was going. Along with her swoosh-haired blond pal.

This kind of shit doesn't get better with age, he knew. Time to move. Casey put his finger on the hammer and took two long strides into the room. "Step away from the nerd," the NSA agent said flatly. Arms taut, one hand cupping the other, he leveled his SIG at Blosjo's head. "Now."

"Nerd? You mean the Intersect," Blosjo corrected.

So he knew. And in a few hours, they'd have to sort it out with Beckman. How far had the secret leaked? Would this be the straw that would put the kid in a bunker?

One mess at a time. First, these two had to be dealt with, and the kid taken out of harm's way. "Do what I say, or it'll be a bitch to get the bloodstains out of the carpet."

The woman turned, her heels clacking as she took a step back. "Who are you?"

"Don't," he warned roughly, just as he saw Blosjo reach for something in his pocket. "If you touch that, no amount of hair product will be able to put your head back together."

It pleased him that the little dick had to wet his throat right then. "All right," Blosjo said. "Just take it easy ..."

"Hands." Casey motioned with the barrel of the SIG. "Get them up where I can see them. You too," he added to the woman without looking at her. "Move over there where I can watch you."

"Ca-seee?" he heard the kid mumble. "Are you there?"

Chuck's voice. But it sounded ... slurred. What the hell? As Casey kept his gun pointed at the criminals, he walked around the sofa and risked a quick glance down at the kid.

Casey's eyebrows rose. It wasn't like Chuck to get drunk, especially under these circumstances, but he swore that at the moment, his asset was drunk on his ass. "Chuck. Get up. Getting you out of here."

"Hey ... heeey, Casey," Chuck said weakly, rubbing his eyes. He struggled to focus, so it took a while for him to realize it was indeed his handler. "You ... you know what? I thought my first date with Susie Miller was the worst ever ... even getting sick on her new shoes ..."

"Bartowski," Casey growled, "whatever the hell is going on, shut up."

"An' sitting on the curb until Ellie picked me up from the j-junior prom?"

Casey shifted his glare to Blosjo. "What did you do to him?"

"But – my date ... with him? That has Susie beat by miiiles." Chuck waved a hand loosely and paused there for a few seconds, ostensibly fascinated by the way his fingers splayed in the air. Lashes fluttering, he somehow forced his attention back up to Casey. "The worst ev-_er_."

"Not now, Chuck. I said _can it."_

"An' he – he tased me! He hooked me to a cable – you know I'm afraid of heights? – and she drugged me! With a needle." The kid squinched his eyes at them and lifted a middle finger. "Not nice!"

Casey had to bite down on the inside of his mouth. "What did you give him?" he demanded, moving his aim to the woman's midsection. "And Chuck, put your damn hand down."

"No worries, Agent." The woman settled her cold eyes upon him. "Do you really think I would give him something that would harm the Intersect?"

"You'll have lots of time to explain it to people with very little patience. Keep your hands up, sister."

He almost had the cuffs out when he heard a metallic _click_.

It took a second for Casey to register that it was the sound of a 9mm round being chambered behind his head. His hunch was confirmed a heartbeat later when the cold metal muzzle touched his neck. So, fucking perfect. He had missed one of the goons when he cleaned up the deck.

"Set your weapon down," a voice told him.

The woman's lip curled into a smile. "Now you, on the other hand, Agent, we have no qualms harming."

"Casey?" Chuck turned his head, his blurry eyes shifting upward. "I – I hate to tell you this, but there's a big, biiig man behind you."

"Really, moron?" Casey lifted one hand and slowly set his gun on an end table. "I suppose he has a gun, too?"

"Are – are you mad at me, Casey?"

David laughed and took Casey's SIG from the table. "Agent shot and killed with his own firearm. Tsk. Tsk. That will look terrible on your pristine service record, won't it?"

"Hang ... hang on ..." Chuck's head lolled to the side, eyelids fluttering wider. "You – you can't shoot him."

"Why not?" Blosjo asked with a snort.

"He's ... 'cause I ... _like_ him, okay I mean like – not just a little, you know?"

Casey lowered his face and narrowed his eyes at him. Maybe the drugs were harsher than the woman was letting on. "Not another word from you, numb nuts."

"How touching," David said, his eyes sweeping over Casey and then Chuck, and a leer slid onto his face. "Were you aware of that fact? That your asset thinks you're pretty?"

"Oh ... he knows." Chuck gave him a sloppy smile and plopped his head back on the cushion. He let out a sigh. "I told him about his – his jaw."

Oh, hell. Not again. It was awkward enough the first time the kid babbled something about his jaw being carved from marble.

"Bartowski." He didn't bother to modulate the menace in his tone, and if he wasn't forced to hold his hands up in the air, one of them would've slapped down on the kid's mouth by then. "For the love of God and all that is holy, _shut up_."

"An' – and I never told him this ... but there are other parts of him ... m-molded from steel."

Did the nerd just waggle a hand at his backside?

Casey groaned. He almost wished Blosjo _would_ just shoot him.

"It's too bad you'll never find out," David said with a quick glimpse down, so yep, that's exactly what the nerd meant. But when Blosjo looked at the man past Casey's shoulder, his face hardened. "Kill him. Then drop him in the water with a chain around his neck. I don't want the evidence washing up to shore."

Each muscle tensing, Casey weighed his odds of getting an elbow into the face of the man behind him before he got a shot off. He decided to go for it.

But the faint sound of footsteps on the carpet, mingling with the click and rattle of a gun, made Casey freeze.

"Drop your weapons," he heard someone order. Casey repressed his vexation that it was Bryce Larkin, not Walker, emerging from the shadows, his firearm aimed squarely ahead. The laser sight pierced a spot between Blosjo's eyebrows. "No one's going for a swim unless I say so."

"Hey! Bryce is here!" Chuck made it sound like a good thing. Rolling his head to the side, the kid waved a hand at Bryce and then smiled, lopsided, up at Casey. "Don't worry, Ca-see. Bryce is going to save you."

"Oh, my aching ass," Casey muttered. Swiping his SIG from Blosjo's hand, he gave him a shove, making him step backwards and away from Chuck. "I've run out of patience. Don't even think of moving."

"Wait. Are you mad at Bryce?" Chuck's brows wrinkled. "Casey. I think he s-saved your life."

The walls seemed to inch in. Casey took a millisecond to reflect on this version of hell. Being saved like a Disney princess by Bryce Larkin was going to leave a mark.

However, he forgot about that when he felt the prod of metal on his neck.

"Don't move." The flat-nosed man still holding a gun to his neck added to Bryce, "I will kill your partner if you don't drop it."

"He's not my partner," Casey and Bryce said together.

"Fine," the gorilla answered. "I don't care what he is. Drop your weapons, or I'll kill the big one."

"Bryce, don't you dare drop your weapon," Casey ordered in a low rumble. "Take the shot. Take him out if you –"

A crack shattered the air.

Casey waited for the heavenly gates to part, the call of a silver trumpet. Or the vision of Lucifer and the Holy Father rolling dice, because neither knew quite how to sort out a trained assassin who killed for good.

None of that happened. His head buzzing from the blast, he immediately crouched and turned, his SIG pointed up, finger on the trigger.

Bryce Larkin held the smoking gun. On the floor, the gorilla curled his knees into his chest, choking up gobs of blood on the hardwood floor. "You wanted me to take the shot, right?" Larkin asked, and just the corner of his mouth quirked up.

Idiot. Casey's hand flew to his neck anyway, checking that his head was still attached. He started to turn around, intent on cuffing Blosjo and the woman -

His chest gave a kick. Right then, he had no clue why he saw a flash of alertness – or dread - in Larkin's eyes, snapping with a warning of _heads up_.

Until, that was, he heard Chuck let out a sound between a confused yelp and a croak.

"Ahem," Blosjo said. "If we're finished playing games, maybe we can get back to the business at hand.

A gun had come out of nowhere, now pressed to the asset's neck. The asset, barely able to stand, was wild-eyed and hands in the air. Blosjo had his arm tight around Chuck's neck, making use of the kid's lanky body by using him as a human shield.

"You little son of a bitch," Casey muttered, swinging his arm around, gun up.

Blosjo pulled Chuck backwards, causing the kid to stumble over his own feet. He may be drugged and half out of it, but that was real panic swimming in those brown eyes.

"How did you put it again?" Blosjo asked, pretending to think about it. "Oh, that's right. Want to take the shot, Agent Casey?"

**-x- End The Odd Quadruple Chapter Ten –x-**

_Jesus, skye. Can we have one friggin' chapter that doesn't end on a cliffhanger? _

Er, the last one? (Which, for those curious, will be lucky 13) And if you kill me now, how will we know how this ends? ;)

Another bit of awesomeness about my beta reader that I couldn't share up front (it would've given away clues ...) is that she has served me up with a New York Times article that answered my question on whether we can use today's vernacular as verbs, lower case, i.e. taser. Indeed, we can.

Thanks for hanging around here. I truly appreciate it. And I really hope Casey eventually warms up to the kid, because how else are we going to survive the Polar Vortex?

Comments, or anything that tells me you are still there, are total love.

Til next time,

-skye

24


	11. Chapter 11

**The Odd Quadruple**

**Chapter Eleven**

Chuck twisted to look back at him with doped-up yet accusing eyes. "Okay ... okay," he began, "I'm sure ... we can sit down like rational -"

"Bartowski, put your hands down," Casey demanded. Didn't the twerp know not to wave Goddamn body parts in front of the path of a bullet? Now that's being rational.

"But ... but this is _not_ how we planned it!" Chuck made his point by keeping his arms outspread with a fair amount of flailing. "Casey ... Casey – I know you want to, but please don't!"

"Oh, how touching. Did you hear that, Agent?" Blosjo said it with a snivel, and pressing the tip of the barrel into the kid's neck, he used the hold around his shoulders to steer him back. "Yes, _please_, Casey. Don't shoot the bad man who has a loaded gun to my head. He'll get off one last shot, and the big brain you're supposed to be protecting will be on your shoes." As Blosjo's face hardened, he then dropped the insulting soprano voice and said coldly, "Isn't that right, Casey?"

"That – that sounds nothing like me, you jerk!"

"Chuck, not now," Bryce said, slowly moving in next to Casey. "Just take it easy ..." Out of the corner of his eye, Casey could see Larkin leveling off his Smith and Wesson. He had the shot, too - all but for a six-foot-four frame that was directly in the way. "No one needs to get hurt, right?"

Great, now he had to be subjected to the pantywaist CIA negotiation tactics. Because someone sure as hell needed to get hurt.

"I think I have a shot," Casey said in a low voice, because he didn't trust Bryce to get it off clean. Hearing his threat, even an empty one, could make Blosjo waver, or change his plans. Make him drop the nerd.

It was a vague awareness, however, that had Casey asking himself one thing – where the hell was his real partner? Another agent to preempt Blosjo's attention, positioned at the precise angle, would've brought this little charade to a halt by now.

"A ... shot?" It had taken a moment for Chuck to realize Casey meant in his direction. "No!" the kid blurted, swaying lightly until Blosjo squeezed hard. "You heard him! He s-said he's going to shoot me if you do that!"

He might, Casey had to concede, eyeing the tip of the muzzle against the ghost-white flesh of Chuck's neck. Being held in front of Blosjo as a human shield – and playing that role was beginning to be a nasty habit for the kid - Chuck could barely walk, his eyes fluttering in a fight with whatever they had given him. The drug appeared to be ready to deal a knockout punch.

Then what? Because Blosjo wasn't going to free his only ticket out of here.

"You may get nicked," Casey said. "Just a flesh wound, but the Intersect will be safe." His arm steady and tense, he watched the pinpoint of light from the laser sight dancing between Blosjo's perfect sweep of hair and Chuck's temple. "Chuck can take the hit ..."

Taking out the Intersect? He would never do it. For one, it was his job to keep him breathing, and two ... Okay, _fine_. There was a minute chance – infinitesimal, really - that if anyone looked at this from a weird angle or in bad light, they may see that the kid had grown on him. Just a little.

"You're bluffing," Blosjo said, and Casey wanted nothing more than to wipe that sneer off his pretty-boy mug. "You won't do it."

"I don't bluff," Casey answered, drawing in closer.

"Maybe so, but this time, agent? I can see your hesitation. It's ... him, isn't it?" Blosjo smiled, still shuffling backwards, dragging Chuck in front of him to the far end of the lounge. There was a door behind him, leading to the deck at the boat's bow. "You'd never take a shot that could risk something this valuable." Hoping to provoke a reaction, he thrust the end of the barrel against Chuck's neck. "I know what he's worth."

Idiot had no idea.

"Ow!" Chuck winced and sucked in a huge breath. "Wa – wasn't the needle enough?"

"I _will_ do this," Casey growled, stalking in a step closer. "I'm not the kind to cry over spilled blood."

"He – he means it!" Chuck threw his hands up. "Ca-Casey doesn't kid about blood! Or anything!" he added after thinking about it.

"Drop the kid, Blosjo," Bryce said, his voice cool, keeping his aim fixed on him. He slid a step in, taking up the side flank. "There's still a scenario – though getting more unlikely every second - where you can get out of this alive."

Blosjo laughed. "Do you seriously think I wouldn't kill him in exchange for my freedom?" He tightened his grip, working a yelp out of the kid, and grinned when he did. "I don't care if he dies at this point in the game, gentlemen."

"Let's think of it this way," Casey told him, pointing his steely gaze down the barrel. "He's stops breathing. You stop breathing. See how that works?"

A soft swish from behind made the hairs on his neck stand up. Casey could feel the movement a split second before he saw it from the outer edge of his vision. To the side of them, the woman in red reached a hand behind the bar -

Bryce's shot pierced her shoulder before she could take aim. The gun fell from her hand. Latin Marilyn dropped to her knees, moaning curses and holding her shoulder, blood leaking between her fingers.

Turning to Chuck's captor, Bryce just gave him a bland look. "You're on your own now, David."

"Seems we're at an impasse, then," Blosjo said. A second later, he shoved the gun hard against the kid's collarbone. "Where to go ... what to do ... do you have anything to add, Chuck?" Another hard poke.

No mewling this time. Huh. The NSA agent briefly cast his attention to Chuck's face. Knowing that Blosjo intended to make him squawk in order to wheedle under their skin, he saw the kid had his lips pinched together, apparently to squelch any additional embarrassing sounds.

Look who's manning up.

"The only impasse I see," Casey said with considerable grit, "is deciding if I should shoot you or drown you for this little stunt."

"Do that, and I put a bullet in his skull."

"Please n-no," Chuck stuttered. "Ellie w-would never understand why I had to die _with Morgan_ on a gay cruise. It would haunt her!"

"Did you hear that, Mr. Casey? It's ... quite _sad_."

"_Major_ Casey, you asshole."

Blosjo chuckled softly. "Tsk. Tsk. Who will tell the sister?" Without taking his eyes from Casey, Blosjo grabbed the door handle, turned it, and pushed the door open with his foot. "I do have to wonder something, however."

"What," and Casey's voice held enough menace to tell him he was not interested in the answer.

"Just this," Blosjo went on, pulling Chuck backwards through the doorway. "I wonder if the Intersect can swim. Hm, what do you think?"

"I think you'll die first –"

"Though, sadly, it doesn't seem to have survival instincts programmed into it. Just a clumsy drugged boy – and not able to keep his head above water – like this, anyway?" His eyes flickered with the knowledge of the devilish trouble he could cause. "Too bad."

"The water?" Bryce asked, taking the bait. "You're not thinking of -"

"Giving him a dip in the ocean?" Blosjo glanced at Bryce, obviously satisfied to have reeled him in by getting an emotional reaction. Jesus, what a dumbass. "I would presume that in his current ... rather unfortunate condition, we'd only get a bit of floundering and splashing. For a few seconds anyway."

"C-Casey ... what – what is he talking about?" Chuck asked, blinking. He tried to push Blosjo away, but the man hooked his hand tighter around his neck, and hauled the kid up hard against him.

"Easy, kid," Blosjo said. "It'll be fast."

Casey felt his finger twitch. If he pulled the trigger, it would be Chuck –

No. Not yet.

"Does anyone care to take any bets?" David continued. Under the cover of semidarkness, they had to watch as Blosjo pulled the kid out onto the open deck. Music and voices, laughter, spilled out from up above. Down here in the shadows, the blond man nodded towards the railing. "My money is on sinking like a stone."

"Don't you dare," Casey said, each word sharp as a spike. He, and then Bryce, slinked through the doorway after them and out onto the yacht's deck. "You will _not_ throw that nerd in the water."

"Casey, I hate to t-tell you," Chuck said haltingly, "but – but I'm freaking out a little."

A little was an understatement. From the uneven cadence of his breathing, Casey knew rattled nerves were taking over, which meant the water would pull him in as quickly as the drugs. Either way, sinking like a stone was a safe bet.

"Stay out of it, Chuck," Casey ordered. Gun steady, he moved in closer. "Now, where are you going to go, Blosjo? Running out of room, aren't you?"

"The ocean's a big place, Mr. Protector."

Casey narrowed his eyes. "I said, drop the nerd."

"Not in the water!" Chuck hastened to add. He tried to yank free, earning himself a sharp prod that caused him to stumble. "Ow. Gah – w-watch it."

Son of a bitch. Casey could taste it in the back of his throat. Metallic, bitter, but he recognized it for what it was. Never had he needed to get off a shot like this one. Anything to make this man nothing more than a slick black stain on the deck.

Except for one slight problem. A lanky, geeky problem. Why did Chuck have to be at least four inches taller than the little creep? Because each time Casey considered emptying a bullet into him, Blosjo seemed to anticipate the urge, repositioning the gangly kid in a way that would effectively block the shot. With Chuck's head.

"What's your plan, here, Blosjo?" Casey asked, seeing that the dealer was nearing the edge of the deck. "Look around - nowhere to go."

"Maybe you should forget about Chuck," Bryce said to him. "Instead, you should be asking yourself if _you_ can swim. After you've been shot." Playing wingman, the CIA agent slowly circled to the left. The move boxed in Blosjo and the Intersect at the forward part of the hull, forming a deadly triangle. Bryce then had to add, "Unless ... you'd like to try?"

Typical Bryce, egging him on. He never knew when to just shut up and leave it at that.

"You offer up a highly conceivable solution, Agent," Blosjo answered. Even as they kept moving in, he veered the kid just enough to ensure he was cleanly in harm's way. "Unless ... you'd like to see if bullets go through his flesh?"

That's what Bryce gets for being an imbecile. A technology weasel mocking him.

Casey rolled his eyes and took a brief second to see how Chuck was holding up. The drug they had administered, and God knows what it was, had his eyelids falling to half-mast, and now his arms moved as if they were getting heavier. He'd be out in another minute.

Casey swallowed. Swallowed again when he still felt the lump where there sure as hell wasn't one. And that was not a pesky and weakly human knot forming in his stomach.

Chuck could not go in that water.

"No more chatter," Blosjo said, punctuating the line with another stab of the muzzle. "This is what's going to happen, _Major_."

Chuck eyes momentarily flared at the jab. "... Ah ..." was all he could get out.

"You're not the one giving orders, punk," Casey reminded him.

"Given my proximity to the edge and my gun at your asset's throat, I'd say I am. And though I hate to destroy such a valuable weapon so close to the deal, I _will_ throw him in." Convincing them it wasn't a bluff, Blosjo pulled the kid backwards until they stood against the railing. "Don't you doubt me for a minute."

"You'll kill him," Bryce said, worry creasing his forehead. "He's in no condition to swim."

"Think so?" Blosjo gave Bryce a sarcastic sweep of his eyes. "You must be the brains behind this operation."

Casey grunted, left it up for interpretation.

Bryce gave a dirty look without turning his head. "What do you want?"

"Want?" Blosjo's voice lowered in respect to the open air over water, knowing it had a tendency to carry sounds. "It's quite ... dark, isn't it? The water looks black from here, and it's a good fifteen down, so your asset will definitely have some velocity behind him when he hits the water. Won't you, Chuck?"

"Casey – I changed my mind - may-maybe you can ... shoot him - ?"

Casey stiffened, almost doing it. So close to pulling the trigger, until common sense and years of experience told him not to. It was his training and nothing else stopping him, because he always did his job.

Then when he saw the kid's eyes filled with fear – and trust, hell, trust that he would do the right thing – his finger stilled.

"If you want the waterlogged, dead version of the Intersect on your hands, stay right there, agents." Blosjo looked between the two of them and touched the muzzle to Chuck's cheek. "We'll watch him swim."

"Or _what_," Casey said, adjusting his stance. It was his no-bullshit voice, because he wasn't about to be led around on a leash by this guy. "Just cut the crap and get to it."

"I – Case ...? I don't think ... I can sw-swim right now ..." Forget swimming. In the past two minutes, he had tumbled fast. Chuck could scarcely keep his eyes open any longer, and gradually, the kid stopped fighting and twisting altogether. "Too ... sleepy ..."

"Aw ... hear that, Casey?" Blosjo said, clacking his tongue in mock regret. "Okay, so you want to know the _or _part of the equation," and the creep jabbed the weapon to Chuck's neck. "You two jump in."

"Not happening." Casey flicked a look at Bryce. He kept his gun leveled. "We'll take our chance with a damaged Intersect."

"And if we do?" Bryce asked. "How do we know you still won't try to take him?"

Blosjo shrugged. "I guess you'll have to trust me."

"And we're back to not happening," Casey answered. The epitome of dangerous grace, he moved in another step. The red beam of his laser sight caught the side of Blosjo's head, tempting him in a millisecond before it danced around Chuck's neck. His finger twitched, released. "Drop the kid, and you might walk away from this situation with only minor limb loss."

"Easy, Casey," Bryce murmured.

"How can I put this? Oh, not happening," Blosjo echoed, a cold smile curving his lips at the opportunity to dish it back.

"Case ... why ... why haven't you sh-shot him yet?"

_Because your big head is in the way, moron!_

"Chuck, I said shut up."

"Ya know ... this ... this ... lil guy here who wants to kill you?" Chuck drawled, lurching as Blosjo pulled him back a step. "And you want to k-kill him?"

Now he gets his second wind? Christ. "Bartowski, let the grown-ups handle -"

"It's ... it's a classic – the Mex-Mexican standoff." Chuck then wet his lips, trying to get his mouth working again, though Casey really wished he wouldn't. "An impossible situation – mutual need for des - destruction ... where someone has to die...?"

"No one has to die," Bryce said coolly.

Casey begged to differ, but he kept his opinion to himself.

"Nah – it always happens. 'Member John McClane?" Chuck said, his voice wavering. "He taped ... the gun to his back ... the way he lied to Hans Gruber ..?"

"What the fuck is he talking about?" Casey growled it to Bryce. He was half-nerd, after all, and had to have an inkling.

"What?" Momentarily forgetting where they were, Bryce darted a look of disbelief at Casey. "One of the greatest standoffs of all time?"

"Does it involve me shooting this little prick?" Casey asked between clenched teeth. Squinting down the barrel, he felt his trigger finger slide along the cool metal loop. "Because let's do it. I hate long good byes."

"... takes his wife hostage ... holding a gun to her head ..." Chuck's brow momentarily bunched up. "Not – not that I'm ... let's just scratch that."

Blosjo glanced at the back of the kid's head. "By the time this is over, you might pay me to toss him overboard, hm?"

Casey had to admit to himself if it weren't for the drugs and certain death, he would've considered it as a valid option.

"But someone's always lyin' ... right, Bryce?" Chuck managed a nod, but it was obvious to Casey the kid was sinking through patches of unconsciousness. And the obvious risk of what Blosjo would do made his heart jump into his throat. "He's never gonna give up the gun ... never gonna lose his only way out."

Bryce straightened. His gun, which had relaxed by the tiniest bit, snapped right back to Blosjo's head. "He's right, Casey," he whispered. "Chuck's right about this."

"Right about what?" Blosjo and Casey asked at the same time. Casey then scowled at the blond. "You. Shut up. Bryce," he said, turning his head for a heartbeat, "Time to end this."

"'M right this time," Chuck said, turning to look over his shoulder. "He's ... gonna throw me in. No m- matter what, Case ..." He clumsily shoved a few locks of hair that had fallen over his forehead, and when he did, his shaky hands made Casey really look at the kid's expression. Take in every bit of it. White with fear, working to hold his head up, but that wasn't what he saw. That obstinate set to Chuck's jaw had taken hold of his features. "An' I don't wanna be the one to let this guy go. So don't worry about me ... just ... shoot him, 'kay?"

Casey felt the heart he didn't have give a little kick against his ribs.

Honest to God, Chuck could be the most frustratingly idiotic man. Where the hell this bravery was coming from, he didn't understand. How was it that the kid managed to dig deep when all the shit came down to a moment like this one?

Casey's arm rose and tightened. The red dot of the laser sight jiggled from the dark curls at Chuck's temple to Blosjo's ear.

Back to Chuck's wacky hair.

His forehead.

My God. He couldn't do it. He told himself it was pure and unbiased logic that immediately weighed the risk of the shot over the beneficial return of taking the shot.

Then he told himself he was a fucking idiot. Plain and simple, he couldn't shoot the kid.

When he shifted his gaze to Chuck, Casey had the strange feeling the kid was somehow seeing through all of them, including him, through some type of distorted filter. He could see that his handler had gone outside of himself, went to a place he had no business being, and now Chuck might have to pay for that grave mistake with his life.

"Casey, what are you doing?" he heard Bryce hiss. "Gotta take it."

The NSA agent half turned his head, intent on telling Bryce to go to hell. A surge of a new emotion crossing the kid's face, however, stopped him dead. This time it was icy panic.

"Casey!" Chuck's watery eyes focused on something beyond Casey and Bryce's backs. Though it seemed it took the last of his strength, he blurted, "Look out!"

As Casey turned, training and perfect reflexes kicked in.

He did three things, all nearly simultaneously.

Getting low, he spun around and capped the woman in the clingy red dress. A bullet entered her sternum before she could get off a shot. The gun, the one she had pointed at the back of his head a heartbeat ago, clattered to the floor.

"Chuck! Down!"

Next, he turned around to face Blosjo, only to feel a spurt of disgust in his belly to see Chuck falling backwards over the rail. Now that he had his diversion – one that Casey would get to relive for weeks - the arms dealer dove behind a rounded deck hatch.

So he kneecapped the little shit for his efforts, promising himself he'd be back to finish the job in a jiffy. "You're not going anywhere," he growled, already rounding towards the deck rail.

Finally, as he tossed his gun, Casey broke into a dead sprint. Leaping over the waist high railing, he dove into the murky water fifteen feet below.

In that pristine second of dropping, his brain fed him a quick-as-a-dart image, the last thing he saw before his head went under. A flash of blonde hair, a slender figure, all in black, diving off the edge of a lifeboat. He closed his eyes, knowing she had disappeared under the surface with him.

-x-

"No – please!" Chuck yelped when he felt the hand on his chest. It didn't stop. Instead, there was an unrelenting push.

Hadn't he told Casey to shoot him? That it was okay to choose the greater good? Isn't that what he always did?

Chuck barely felt his hip smack into the deck rail, hard enough to propel his shoulders backwards. The tiny pocket in his mind that still held lucidity told him Blosjo had pushed him. Later – and that was if he lived - he'd like to see the little twit locked in a small room with John Casey to pay for that push.

On the bright side, because Ellie always insisted there was one, dying gave him time to sort through his last thoughts.

Surprising him, thoughts about his handlers came first. They took their jobs very seriously. No matter what, through a hailstorm of bullets, or ticking bombs, they protected him. Kept him safe. And though his brain sloshed around in his head like a jarred frog in formaldehyde, he knew one thing. Casey and Sarah would blame themselves for this little error in judgment.

Okay, it was a whopper, but for that, Chuck was sorry. They deserved more than a mission that ended with a drugged, dead asset. No gold stars for getting your charge killed, he presumed.

He went back to dying, wondering when he had become bitterly morbid.

The kid felt himself stumble, feet losing touch with the ground, but as he swung out with one arm, desperate to catch the rail, he knew that it didn't matter. Momentum and gravity were already pulling him in, and even if his motor skills weren't dulled as a butter knife, he had no chance of stopping the frightening motion. It became too hard to think. He was too busy falling.

"Little son of a bitch," he heard someone say in a rough voice. He caught a wild glimpse of Casey's gun pivoting towards a red dress, the muzzle flash making a hell of a racket when he shot her in the chest. Maybe tomorrow, again if he was alive, he'd contemplate about how scary that was, to witness someone dying.

Bryce had spun around at the same time, taking his eyes off of Blosjo, and that's when it happened. Pushing him over the rail. It took a bit more to admit it, but Chuck decided he shouldn't blame Bryce, either.

His black Chucks continued to swing upward, and when his back went over the rail, it was odd, he thought, to see his shoes over his head.

Chuck hit the open air over the bow. He'd never be able to explain to anyone how it felt to be engulfed in a fall, sucked into a helpless feeling of utter lack of control, of simply being. He wondered if he was floating, or how it felt to die, but nothing about the sinking pull felt like floating in a pool. He was dropping through emptiness, his limbs riding with terror, his stomach and heart exploding. Even a rollercoaster left something to hang on to. There was nothing here to grab. And he was too weary to try if there was.

The descent was agonizingly slow. No longer fighting upward, he slammed into the water, back first, legs up. Water filled his nose, stung his eyes. He wanted to scream, let them know where he was, but the salty taste of the ocean made him suck in one breath and seal his mouth.

Black water surrounded him, everything in his world suddenly drenched and working in slow motion. The churning waves, with their powerful strong arms, pulled him in, swallowing any thrashing or fighting he attempted. Already his lungs were bursting and dark spots behind his eyes swelled. There wasn't any air; he had to get up, over the surface, and he fought to break free of the force pulling him under.

A foggy revelation that he would never be able to explain swamped him. In death, there was no flash of worldly, ethereal knowledge, or inner peace. Just a cold hard squeeze of an iron band around his middle, stubbornly taking him away.

One of those arms latched around him, tugging him to a place he didn't want to go.

No, he couldn't go there. He couldn't let it take him down. Chuck struggled, every move of his legs and arms, sluggish. Lungs burning.

Nothing worked.

He had to fight for another kick or two before he realized it wasn't pulling him under.

**-x- End The Odd Quadruple Chapter Eleven –x-**

Thank you for riding along on this story. I appreciate every reader who stops by to follow the boy's adventures. We have a good time, don't we? ;)

The final two chapters, coming up!

Again, as always, I love to hear reactions, so thank you.

Til next time,

-skye

11


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